


A SOUL FOR A SOUL

by Business_Inator99



Series: The Open Eyes (Harry Potter) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Ron Weasley, Bad Albus Dumbledore, Dark Harry Potter, F/F, F/M, Future pairings because they are kids now, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, M/M, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Somewhat Good Voldemort (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2020-01-24 08:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18568132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Business_Inator99/pseuds/Business_Inator99
Summary: Harry Potter makes a dangerous bargain in an attempt to save Ginny from death, triggering certain events that will lead to unlikely romances, discoveries and deaths





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about writing this story for a while and I managed to actually write it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

Stone pillars were entwined with carved serpents that rose to support the ceiling of a chamber lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. In the middle stood a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle facing a twelve-year-old Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley laid on the floor barely alive.

Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn’t suit him in Harry's opinion. It made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

“If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed.  Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted… I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her…"

"What do you mean?" mouthed Harry, whose mouth had gone very dry.

“Haven’t you guessed yet, Harry Potter?” said Riddle softly. “Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib’s cat.”

“No,” Harry whispered.

“Yes,” said Riddle,  calmly. “Of course, she didn’t know what she was doing at first. It was very amusing.  I wish you could have seen her new diary entries… they became far more interesting… Dear Tom,” he recited, watching Harry’s horrified face, “I’m losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don’t know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can’t remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I’ve got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I’m pale and I’m not myself. There was another attack today and I don’t know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? Am I going mad?  I think  I’m the one attacking everyone, Tom!’”

Harry’s fists were clenched, the nails digging deep into his palms.

“It took a very long time for her to stop trusting her diary,” said Riddle. “But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And that’s where you came in, Harry. You found it, and I couldn’t have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was you, the very person I was most anxious to meet."

“And why did you want to meet me?” said Harry. Anger was coursing through him, and it was an effort to keep his voice steady.

“Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry,” said Riddle. “Your whole fascinating history.”  His eyes roved over the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead, and their expression grew hungrier. “I knew I must find out more about you, talk to you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show you the capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust —”

“Hagrid’s my friend,” said Harry, his voice now shaking. “And you framed him, didn’t you? I thought you made a mistake, but —”

Riddle laughed his high laugh again.

“It was my word against Hagrid’s.  On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student…  on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls… but I admit, even I  was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought someone must realize that Hagrid couldn’t be the Heir of Slytherin.  It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance… as though Hagrid had the brains, or the power!

“Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid and train him as a gamekeeper.  Yes, Dumbledore might have guessed… Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did…”

“I bet Dumbledore saw right through you,” said Harry, his teeth gritted.

“Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled,” said Riddle carelessly. "But he is not the perfect man it seems you believe him to be."

Harry frowned, confusion shifting from anger, but before he could ask Riddle what he meant, he continued.

“I knew it wouldn’t be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school. But I wasn’t going to waste those long years I’d spent searching for it.  I left behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin’s noble work .”

“Well, you haven’t finished it,” said Harry triumphantly. “Not a single Muggleborn died, not even the cat. In a few hours, the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who  was Petrified  will be all right again —"

"I didn't kill Myrtle because she was a Mudblood," Riddle said, if Harry knew better, he would say he was confused, "I needed death to create this diary and the magic that it contains. Salazar... he didn't kill Mudbloods, I don't know where you got that from."

"He didn't kill but he refused to teach them," said Harry with momentum. "He wanted them gone and wouldn't acknowledge them as actual wizards and —”

"Is that what they are teaching now?" Tom mused. "In my time they didn't even mention him at all. Interesting how times change. But Mudbloods don’t matter to me. For many months now, my new target has been — you.”

Harry stared at him.

"There isn’t much life left in her… She put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages… I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry spat, fists still clenched.

“Well,” said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, “how is it that you — a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent — managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort’s powers  were destroyed ?”

“Why do you care how I escaped?” said Harry slowly. “Voldemort was after your time…”

“Voldemort,” said Riddle softly, “is my past, present, and future…”

He pulled Harry’s wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

“You see?” he whispered.  “I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

Harry’s brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly at Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to be a murderer. At last, he forced himself to speak. 

“You’re not,” he said, his quiet voice full of hatred. “Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore."

The smile had gone from Riddle’s face, to  be replaced by  a very ugly look. “Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” he hissed. "He knew I could change the Wizarding World! And once I get the rest of Ginny's soul, I will! She is already dying as we speak and there is nothing you can do about it."

Riddle smirked.

Harry noticed he was right, she was dying. Dying like his parents had done before for him. So he did the only thing he never fathomed he would do in front of his parents' killer, he begged, "P — please don't kill her! This has nothing to do with her!" This was his best mate's sister and he wasn't going to let her die like this, Harry knew that much. He wasn't letting another person die for him. "I — I will give you my soul but let her live."

Riddle managed to mask his shocked expression, it didn't occur to him that this was going to happen.

"Do we have a deal? You give her soul back and you get mine," said Harry, seriousness and desperation present on his voice.

"My original plan was to  be revived  with her soul and finish you off with the Basilisk," Riddle said nonchalantly, "but how could I refuse when you are giving me a much better deal?"

Harry extended his hand to seal the deal but Riddle shook his head.

"You are worth much more alive than dead to me, Harry Potter," Riddle clarified. "I will need you to swear a binding oath."

Riddles instructed Harry on how to do it due to Harry's lack of Wizarding knowledge. Harry repeated as instructed, even if a little hesitant. By the time he had sworn, he knew he hadn't thought this plan through and through. He didn't know what kind of power Riddle had now on him, but, at least, Ginny's colour was returning to her face. Harry was wondering when she would wake up.

"She won't wake up," Riddle said as if reading his mind, "not yet, anyway. I have only taken a small part of your soul since I am in dire need of power to survive as I am right now. I will  reside  on your mind for the time being while we work a way to gain back my body."

Harry didn't like the sound of that _'we'_ , but had no choice than to hold his tongue. This was what his life was now, he realized.

"I've been told several things," Riddle confessed, "about the me that you faced. I don't like them, and I refuse to believe that they are the truth, there must be a reason."

"Like what?"

"Like I killed Mudbloods for the sake of it," Riddle replied.

Riddle's answer did nothing but confuse Harry. "I thought that was your whole deal, killing non-Purebloods and overthrowing the government."

Riddle looked at him distrustfully. "I do plan on conquering the Wizarding World but I have no idea what you mean by the rest," he said. "I must look at it, once I have your training advanced."

"Training?" Harry gulped.

"Yes, Harry, training," he assured with a smirk. "Once you are trained you will be my right-hand man against Dumbledore's army. That bastard will get what he deserves. And you will do as I say or I will kill every single one of your friends."

Harry's mouth had gone dry at the prospect of his future. "Dumbledore will surely ask me what happened here," he realized. "He is a good man, he cares for me and will want to know what happened."

Riddle laughed. "Dumbledore is as much as a good man than I am, at least I am fighting for justice!" he spat.

Harry had the urge to laugh at him. "Justice!? You are no more than a murderer!" Harry roared, waves of raw magic coming from him.

Riddle didn't even look annoyed, something which angered Harry more. If anything, he looked at him in wonder.

"That power," Riddle noted, "it feels... almost similar to my own... are you — are you by any chance a horcrux?"

"A what?"

Riddle looked at him more, analysing him, then smiled. "You don't know, right? Dumbledore didn't tell you? I am not surprised."

"Tell me what?"

"The reason why you can talk to snakes, that a part of Voldemort lives inside you," Riddle announced. "The diary is a horcrux too, I planned on doing seven. I honestly can't know if I managed them but you were an accident. It probably happened when he tried to kill you, and failed. It means that as long as you and me and all the horcruxes live, Voldemort can't be killed."

Harry's eyes widened. That couldn't possibly be true, he was Harry, just Harry, not Harry and the seventh part of Voldemort.

"Dumbledore once told me..." Harry said somberly, "he said that one day I would defeat Voldemort... not for some time but... still." He hesitated before continuing.  "Does that mean that I have to kill myself for that to happen?"

"Yes, and it doesn't make it any better that he knows," Riddle said.

"He can't possibly know! He would've told me!" burst Harry.

"Dumbledore is not a fool, Harry," he said as-a-matter-of-factly, "he suspected me when I was still on school, and the reason for the recent attacks has no other explanation than a fragment of the soul of the Heir of Slytherin has had someone under its control, since he knew it was me. He probably pieced it together somewhere from last year to now, I wouldn't be surprised if he did it earlier."

"How... how do I know that you are telling me the truth? You lied about Hagrid, you killed my parents! How do I know you aren't lying to me now!?" Harry hollered.

"I would gain nothing by lying now," Riddle shrugged but then smirked. "Look, he even knows you are here."

Harry turned to see Fawkes flying to him with the Sorting Hat in his claws. Dropping it on the floor, he flew away. Immediately, the Sword of Gryffindor appeared.

"He is the only who can command the bloody bird, he, I believe, is giving you his aid through a messenger so you may try to defeat me, while he takes credit and sits on his arse," Riddle scowled. "Once we get out," he commanded, "keep the diary on your pocket, tell your friend outside that you will tell him what happened once you are with Dumbledore and repeat exactly as I say, remember that I will be on your head."

Harry stared at the sword. Did the Headmaster really think a twelve-year-old boy that barely knew how to use a wand, would use that weapon to kill a ginormous serpent that could kill with a simple glare?

"Grab the sword and the Hat, it will help sell out the lie."

Much to Harry's dismay, he nodded.

"Ms Weasley should be waking up," Riddle added. "Until we see each other again, Harry."

After that, he disappeared and Ginny stirred. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Ginny!” Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull her through first. “You’re alive! I don’t believe it! What happened? How — what — where did that bird come from?”

Fawkes had swooped through the gap after Ginny.

“He’s Dumbledore’s,” said Harry, squeezing through himself.

“How come you’ve got a sword?” said Ron, gaping at the glittering weapon in Harry’s hand.

“I’ll explain when we get out of here,” said Harry with a sideways glance at Ginny, who was crying harder than ever.

“But —”

“Later,” Harry said shortly just as Riddle had commanded him to do. “Where’s Lockhart?”

“Back there,” said Ron, still looking puzzled but jerking his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. “He’s in a bad way. Come and see.”

Led by Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow in the darkness, they walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself.

“His memory’s gone,” said Ron. “The Memory Charm backfired. Hasn’t got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He’s a danger to himself.”

Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at them all. “Hello,” he said. “Odd sort of place, this, isn’t it? Do you live here?”

“No,” said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

 _"What a buffoon,"_ Riddle snorted inside Harry's mind.

Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe.

 _"Do you know how to get up?"_ Harry asked in his mind, it felt silly but he didn't figure out another way to communicate with Riddle.

_"Obviously, but why don't you ask your friend? If I told you, people could wonder how it is that you knew."_

“Have you thought how we’re going to get back up this?” he said aloud to Ron.

Ron shook his head, but Fawkes had swooped past Harry and was now fluttering in front of him, his beady eyes bright in the dark. He was waving his long golden tail feathers. Harry looked uncertainly at him.

“He looks like he wants you to grab hold…” said Ron, looking perplexed. “But you’re much too heavy for a bird to pull up there —”

“Fawkes,” said Harry, “isn’t an ordinary bird.” He turned quickly to the others. “We’ve got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron’s hand. Professor Lockhart —”

“He means you,” said Ron sharply to Lockhart.

“You hold Ginny’s other hand —” Harry tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt, Ron took hold of the back of Harry’s robes, and Harry reached out and took hold of Fawkes’s strangely hot tail feathers.

_"You are quick, that's good."_

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

Mrs Weasley and Mr Weasley flung themselves on their daughter. Harry, however, was looking past them. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Fawkes went whooshing past Harry’s ear and settled on Dumbledore’s shoulder, just as Harry found himself and Ron being swept into Mrs Weasley’s tight embrace.

“You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?”

“I think we’d all like to know that,” said Professor McGonagall weakly.

Harry could practically hear Riddle smirking. _"Tell them everything until you face me in the Chamber."_

For nearly a quarter of an hour he spoke into the rapt silence: He told them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realized that he was hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how he and Ron had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told them where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how he had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom.

“Very well,” Professor McGonagall prompted him as he paused, “so you found out where the entrance was — breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add — but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Potter?”

 _"Repeat after me,"_ Riddle demanded. _"Tom Riddle's memory received me, he gloated how he was going to be resurrected by feeding on Ginny's soul. When he called the basilisk, I started running. Luckily, I was able to escape until Fawkes appeared with the Sorting Hat and blinded the basilisk. I don't know how but this sword appeared in the Hat and I used it to slash the basilisk. It wasn't easy, but when he laid there, dead, I took a fang and stabbed the diary. Riddle disappeared very soon after. The water from the pipes cleaned the basilisk blood "_

Harry said as he was told, hiding his guilt.

Dumbledore's eye's twinkled. "And where, if you would let me ask, is the remnants of the diary?"

 _"I left them,"_ Tom said, _"somewhere in the pipes of the Chamber."_

Harry repeated and heard Tom cursing. _"Do not repeat but that damn man is trying to get inside your mind, I will protect your mind but don't look him in the eyes. Do you feel it?"_

Harry lowered his gaze. _"Yes,"_ he admitted begrudgingly. _"I don't know what that is but I feel something."_ He didn't want to admit anything to Riddle but he did feel something... odd, that wasn't there before, something that stopped when he lowered his eyes.

 “What interests me most,” said Dumbledore gently, “is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania.”

 _"Albania... huh,"_ Tom mused. 

“W-what’s that?” said Mr Weasley in a stunned voice. “You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny’s not…Ginny hasn’t been…has she?”

"Do not worry about it, it was because of the diary," Dumbledore explained softly. “He was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen.” He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered. “Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts."

_"How I loathed every single time I had to be in his presence."_

"He disappeared after leaving the school…travelled far and wide…sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here.”

“But, Ginny,” said Mrs Weasley. “What’s our Ginny got to do with — with — him?” 

 “His d-diary” Ginny sobbed. “I’ve b-been writing in it, and he’s been w-writing back all year —”

“Ginny!” said Mr Weasley, flabbergasted. “Haven’t I taught you anything. What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain? Why didn’t you show the diary to me or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic!’

“I d-didn’t know,” sobbed Ginny. “I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it —”

With every word, Harry felt more and more guilty, dirty. His only console was that at least, she was alive to say those things.

“Ms Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away,” Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. “This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort.” He strode over to the door and opened it. “Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up,” he added, twinkling kindly down at her. “You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She’s just giving out Mandrake juice — I daresay the basilisk’s victims will be waking up any moment.”

“So Hermione’s okay!” said Ron brightly.

The fact that Harry hadn't thought about her made him feel worse.

 “There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny,” said Dumbledore.

Mrs Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr Weasley followed, still looking deeply shaken.

“You know, Minerva,” Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to Professor McGonagall, “I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?”

“Right,” said Professor McGonagall crisply, also moving to the door. “I’ll leave you to deal with Potter and Weasley, shall I?”

“Certainly,” said Dumbledore.

She left, and Harry and Ron gazed uncertainly at Dumbledore. What exactly had Professor McGonagall meant, deal with them?

“I seem to remember telling you both that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules,” said Dumbledore.

Ron opened his mouth in horror. 

 “Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words,” Dumbledore went on, smiling. “You will both receive Special Awards for Services to the School and — let me see — yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor.”

Ron went as brightly pink as Lockhart’s valentine flowers and closed his mouth again.

“But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure,” Dumbledore added. “Why so modest, Gilderoy?”

Harry gave a start. He had completely forgotten about Lockhart, and Riddle hadn't reminded him of his presence. He turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the room, still wearing his vague smile. When Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Ron said quickly, “there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart —”

“Am I a professor?” said Lockhart in mild surprise. “Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?” 

 “He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired,” Ron explained quietly to Dumbledore.

“Dear me,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver moustache quivering. “Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!”

“Sword?” said Lockhart dimly. “Haven’t got a sword. That boy has, though.” He pointed at Harry. “He’ll lend you one.”

“Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?” Dumbledore said to Ron. “I’d like a few more words with Harry…”

Lockhart ambled out. Ron cast a curious look back at Dumbledore and Harry as he closed the door.

Dumbledore crossed to one of the chairs by the fire. “Sit down, Harry,” he said, and Harry sat, feeling unaccountably nervous.

 _"He knows I lied,"_ Harry thought as he looked down.  _"He must know about our deal."_

_"He does not."_

“First of all, Harry, I want to thank you,” said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling again, taking Harry by surprise. “You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you.” He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee.

 _"That is not how it works, Harry,"_ Tom warned him. _"The owner has to tell it to do something, or else it won't do anything even if you had sworn yourself to him. He is full of bullshit."_

“And so you met Tom Riddle,” said Dumbledore thoughtfully. “I imagine he was most interested in you…” 

 _"I will prove you that he won't lie to me,"_ Harry stated.

_"By all means, just don't reveal anything."_

“Professor Dumbledore…Riddle said I’m like him. Strange likenesses, he said… said that we had more in common than different...”

“Did he, now?” said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Harry from under his thick silver eyebrows. “And what do you think, Harry?”

“I mean, I’m — I’m in Gryffindor, I’m…” But he fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind. “Professor,” he started again after a moment. “The Sorting Hat told me I’d — I’d have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin’s heir for a while…because I can speak Parseltongue… why is...”

“You can speak Parseltongue, Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly, “because Lord Voldemort — who is the last remaining descendant of Salazar Slytherin — can speak Parseltongue. Unless I’m much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I’m sure…”

_"He transferred his powers? More like his soul."_

“Voldemort gave me... his powers?” Harry said, trying not to sound disappointed. He didn't tell him the truth, he avoided it.

_"I should've known..."_

_"I warned you."_

_"Yes, you did."_

“It certainly seems so.”

“So I should be in Slytherin,” Harry said. “The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin’s power in me, and it —”

“Put you in Gryffindor,” said Dumbledore calmly. “Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue — resourcefulness — determination — a certain disregard for rules,” he added, his moustache quivering again. “Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think.”

“It only put me in Gryffindor,” said Harry in a defeated voice, “because I asked not to go in Slytherin…”

“Exactly, “said Dumbledore, beaming once more. “Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”

Harry sat motionless in his chair.

“If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this.” Dumbledore reached across to Professor McGonagall’s desk, picked up the silver sword, and handed it to Harry.

Dully, Harry turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then he saw the name engraved just below the hilt: Godric Gryffindor.

“Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry,” said Dumbledore simply.

 _"With me nearby, you felt weak, the sword will aid any Gryffindor that feels threaten,"_ Tom explained.

For a minute, neither of them spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in Professor McGonagall’s desk and took out a quill and a bottle of ink. “What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down to the feast, while I write to Azkaban —we need our gamekeeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too,” he added thoughtfully. “We’ll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher…Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don’t we?”

 _"Now is the time when we leave,"_ Tom instructed.

Harry got up and crossed to the door. He had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall. Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.

“Good evening, Lucius,” said Dumbledore pleasantly.

_"He looks like Abraxas."_

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

 _"What you did before was very foolish,"_ Tom said after Dobby disappeared. _"But I'm sure that the elf could prove to be useful, in the future."_

_"They were abusing him... I know how that feels like and I couldn't stand seeing him like that, he doesn't deserve it."_

_"It was clever using one of Dumbledore's books,"_ Tom said slightly impressed but then asked with a sharp voice. _"What do you mean... that you know how it feels like?"_

Harry inhaled sharply. _"The Dursleys... my uncle, aunt and cousin... they are not very kind to me, not as bad as Malfoy to Dobby though."_

Tom remembered his own sad childhood in the orphanage, that the kid was serving him did not mean that he was to be treated badly. On the contrary, he was his property and something against Harry was something against him. _"Well, that changes this summer."_


	3. Chapter 3

The Dursley family of Number Four, Privet Drive, was the reason that Harry had never enjoyed his summer holidays. At least, that was until he met Tom Riddle.

The day he arrived, Riddle helped him use his wandless magic (so the Ministry wouldn't pick it up, Riddle explained) as Harry threatened his relatives. Pinning them to the walls Harry demanded to be treated right. Even though he was just repeating Riddle's words, Harry couldn't deny that he had never fantasized about saying those things to them. He was still going to do chores, but the Dursleys had to do too.

In the second night, Riddle showed Harry a magic room that only he — and now Harry too — could access. Riddle called it the mind room. He explained that during his stay in the orphanage and Hogwarts, he couldn't practice dark magic, for he was a minor and dark magic was punished by a life sentence on Azkaban — the prison for wizards and witches — , so he created a place where he could. He had to be asleep to enter so his body and mind could rest while his essence stayed awake. But essence room didn't sound quite as well as mind room did, so he ignored the inaccuracy.

Riddle told Harry that he could adjust the room anytime he wanted, but for now it reminded Harry of the Slytherin common room.

During the day, Riddle left Harry's body to explore the Wizarding World in the form of a mist, to acquire the knowledge of what happened in his absence. And during the night, he trained Harry in the mind room.

Despite being a young version of Voldemort, Harry found Tom Riddle not as annoying nor evil as he would have thought. Harry also noticed that the only way for them to speak telepathically was if he had the diary with him. So he tended to leave it on his room.

Sometimes he spoke with Ron and Hermione over the phone (Hermione taught Ron not to shout), but every time they asked him about his summer, Harry had to lie since he basically spent it practising dark spells with Riddle and threatening his family. He didn't want to lie, but Riddle had warned him that they may tell Dumbledore and that would mean trouble for both of them.

"Harry," Riddle said awkwardly looking at the clock in the mind room that marked one in the morning, "happy birthday."

Harry lifted his head from the book Riddle gave him to read and looked at him awestruck. "You remembered."

"Of course I did," he said. "I brought you a gift."

"You... did?"

Riddle stood from his chair and began looking on the shelf through the books. Grabbing a wrapped rectangular gift, Riddle offered it to Harry with a blank expression. "Here."

"Why are you giving me this?"

"Everyone should receive something on their birthday and I can't count on those awful muggles to give you anything," he replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry took the gift without another word and started to tear the colourful paper apart.

It was a framed magical photo of four teenage boys and three teenage girls. The black man with curly dark hair was laughing facing a white girl with dark red hair who was also laughing at a black haired man with grey eyes running from a half amused half angry blonde girl and light brown haired boy while a small boy and a brunette girl tried to stop the trio.

"The ones laughing are your parents, Marlene McKinnon and Remus Lupin are chasing Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew and Dorcas Meadowes are trying to stop them," Riddle described the photo. "It seems that they were friends with your parents, unfortunately not everyone survived the war."

Harry's throat suddenly became dry as his eyes started to prickle. "Where... where did you get this?"

"I stole it."

"What?!"

"Don't worry, I left a copy, but you have the original."

Harry was speechless, he really did not know what to say. What were you supposed to say when your supposed enemy, kinda the same man that killed your parents, tried to kill you and your friends and owned your soul gave you the most thoughtful present? "I... thank you, you don' know how much this means to me... Tom."

Harry put the picture on his magical extended pocket and looked at Tom. He knew Tom had heard him but he gave no indications of actually doing so as he continued with the lesson, "I believe you were reading about the Opprimo hex."

_*******_

The first thing Harry did after waking up was putting the picture on his nightstand. He walked across his illuminated room, past Hedwig’s large, empty cage, to the open window. Hedwig had been absent for two nights now. Harry wasn’t worried about her: she’d been gone this long before. But he hoped she’d be back soon — she was the only living creature in this house who didn’t flinch at the sight of him. It was nice that his relatives treated him different, the problem was that they were afraid of him now — and he couldn't exactly consider Tom a living creature since he had to rely on him to live.

He scanned the starry sky for a sign of Hedwig, perhaps soaring back to him with a dead mouse dangling from her beak, expecting praise. Gazing absently over the rooftops, it was a few seconds before Harry realized what he was seeing.

Through the window soared three owls, two of them holding up the third, which appeared to be unconscious. They landed with a soft flump on Harry’s bed, and the middle owl, which was large and grey, keeled right over and lay motionless. There was a large package tied to its legs. Harry recognized the unconscious owl at once — his name was Errol, and he belonged to the Weasley family. Harry dashed to the bed, untied the cords around Errol’s legs, took off the parcel, and then carried Errol to Hedwig’s cage. Errol opened one bleary eye, gave a feeble hoot of thanks, and began to gulp some water.

Harry turned back to the remaining owls. One of them, the large snowy female, was his own Hedwig. She, too, was carrying a parcel and looked extremely pleased with herself. She gave Harry an affectionate nip with her beak as he removed her burden, then flew across the room to join Errol.

Harry didn’t recognize the third owl, a handsome tawny one, but he knew at once where it had come from because, in addition to a third package, it was carrying a letter bearing the Hogwarts crest. When Harry relieved this owl of its burden, it ruffled its feathers importantly, stretched its wings, and took off through the window into the night.

*******

Harry went down to breakfast to find the three Dursleys already sitting around the kitchen table, though not daring to eat without him. They were watching a brand-new television, a welcome-home-for-the-summer present for Dudley. Harry sat down between Dudley and Uncle Vernon, and grabbed a piece of toast, The Dursleys took this as their cue to start eating. Then, Harry looked up at the reporter on the television, who was halfway through a report on an escaped convict. “… the public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hotline has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately.”

“No need to tell us he’s no good,” snorted Uncle Vernon, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. “Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!”

The reporter had reappeared. “The Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries will announce today —”

Wait, Harry thought abruptly as he stopped eating, where had he heard the name Black?

“Hang on!” barked Uncle Vernon, staring furiously at the reporter. “You didn’t tell us where that maniac’s escaped from! What use is that? Lunatic could be coming up the street right now!”

Aunt Petunia whipped around and peered intently out of the kitchen window looking a little bit distressed.

"Do you know Black, Aunt Petunia?" Harry inquired. "I would recommend thinking twice about lying to me."

She looked taken aback. "I — not exactly."

"Perhaps the name Sirius Black rings any bells?" Harry insisted, making a mental note to ask Tom about it as soon as got the chance.

Nobody tried to interrupt him, afraid that he would snap, but Uncle Vernon was certainly not happy about what was going on.

"Lily — your mother did mention him a few times," Aunt Petunia finally said, stuttering. "He is your rightful guardian — your godfather, but something happened... I don't know what, the letter didn't explain! But he went to jail." She took a deep breath before continuing, "They are saying he killed thirteen people... but I don't know whether it's true or false."

"Are you sure it's him on the news?"

"He had a brother... the other boy — I don't remember either name — talked about him, but the paper talks about a Sirius Black."

Harry looked down at his half-eaten food, thanks to the conversation he had lost all of his appetite. "I'm done, you can continue eating and if I hear that Uncle Vernon tries to do something to you, Aunt Petunia, it will not be pretty for him afterwards," Harry stated as he got off the chair and went to his room to sleep.

As soon as he entered the room, he called out for Tom who materialized next to him only seconds later.

"What do you know about Sirius Black, Tom?"

_*******_

Tom had been gone for half a week and, in all honesty, it had been the worst week Harry had in all summer. His Aunt Marge, or rather Uncle Vernon’s sister since she was not a blood relative of Harry’s, he had been forced to call her ‘Aunt’ all his life. Aunt Marge lived in the country, in a house with a large garden, where she bred bulldogs. She didn’t often stay at Privet Drive, because she couldn’t bear to leave her precious dogs, but each of her visits stood out horribly vividly in Harry’s mind.

He couldn't believe he actually missed Tom Riddle. The guy had gone to in search of information about Sirius Black, and Harry hadn't seen him since the day he asked him to look for it. Of course, Harry had to promise to continue on his studies while he was away, but it was a small price to pay to get what he wanted.

Indeed, it had been fun seeing the panicked look on the Dursleys every time Aunt Marge could boom out suggestions for his improvement, or when she compared made nasty comments on him. But Harry couldn't exactly treat her as he did with the Dursleys since a) he didn't know how to do wandless magic without Tom helping him, and b) because even if he tried, something was bound to fail.

And fail it did, spectacularly so.

“You mustn’t blame yourself for the way the boy’s turned out, Vernon,” she said over lunch on the fouth day. “If there’s something rotten on the inside, there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

Harry tried to concentrate on his food, but his hands shook and his face was starting to burn with anger. _Remember that Tom isn’t here to get you out of this,_ he told himself. _Think about Hogwarts. Don’t say anything. Don’t rise —_

Aunt Marge reached for her glass of wine. “It’s one of the basic rules of breeding,” she said. “You see it all the time with dogs. If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’ll be something wrong with the pup —”

At that moment, the wineglass Aunt Marge was holding exploded in her hand. Shards of glass flew in every direction and Aunt Marge sputtered and blinked, her great ruddy face dripping.

“Marge!” squealed Aunt Petunia. “Marge, are you all right?”

“Not to worry,” grunted Aunt Marge, mopping her face with her napkin. “Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster’s the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip…”

Harry decided he’d better skip dessert and escape from the table as soon as he could. Outside in the hall, he leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. It had been a long time since he’d lost control and made something explode. He couldn’t afford to let it happen again, he’d be in trouble with the Ministry of Magic and Tom would not be happy about it.

He heard the Dursleys leaving the table and hurried upstairs out of the way.

Harry got through the next three days by forcing himself to think about his Handbook of DoItYourself Broomcare (a gift from Hermione) whenever Aunt Marge started on him. This worked quite well, though it seemed to give him a glazed look, because Aunt Marge started voicing the opinion that he was mentally subnormal.

At last, at long last, the final evening of Marge’s stay arrived. Aunt Petunia cooked a fancy dinner and Uncle Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine. They got all the way through the soup and the salmon without a single mention of Harry’s faults; during the lemon meringue pie, Uncle Vernon bored them a with a long talk about Grunnings, his drill-making company; then Aunt Petunia made coffee and Uncle Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy. “Can I tempt you, Marge?”

Aunt Marge had already had quite a lot of wine. Her huge face was very red. “Just a small one, then,” she chuckled. “A bit more than that… and a bit more… that’s the ticket.

Dudley was eating his fourth slice of pie. Aunt Petunia was sipping coffee with her little finger sticking out.

“Aah,” said Aunt Marge, smacking her lips and putting the empty brandy glass back down. “Excellent nosh, Petunia. It’s normally just a fry-up for me of an evening, with twelve dogs to look after…” She burped richly and patted her great tweed stomach. “Pardon me. But I do like to see a healthy-sized boy,” she went on, winking at Dudley. “You’ll be a proper-sized man, Dudders, like your father. Yes, I’ll have a spot more brandy, Vernon…

“Now, this one here —” She jerked her head at Harry, who felt his stomach clench.

The Handbook, he thought quickly.

“This one’s got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred.”

Panicked rose through Harry’s relatives as Harry was trying to remember page twelve of his book: A Charm to Cure Reluctant Reversers.

“It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I’m saying nothing against your family, Petunia” — she patted Aunt Petunia’s bony hand with her shovellike one “but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here’s the result right in front of us.”

Harry was staring at his plate, a funny ringing in his ears. Grasp your broom firmly by the tail, he thought. But he couldn’t remember what came next. Aunt Marge’s voice seemed to be boring into him like one of Uncle Vernon’s drills.

“This Potter,” said Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, “you never told me what he did?”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense.

“I — we didn’t keep contact,” said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry. “I don’t know.”

“Probably unemployed!” said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. “A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who —”

“He was not,” said Harry suddenly. The table went very quiet. Harry was shaking all over. He had never felt so angry in his life. If only Tom was here...

“MORE BRANDY!” yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge’s glass.

Aunt Marge hiccupped, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry’s. “Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I expect) —”

“They didn’t die in a car crash!” said Harry, who found himself on his feet.

“They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!” screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with fury. “You are an insolent, ungrateful little —”

Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger — but the swelling didn’t stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech — next second, several buttons had just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls — she was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami…

“MARGE!” yelled Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia together as Aunt Marge’s whole body began to rise off her chair toward the ceiling. She was entirely round like a vast life buoy with piggy eyes as she drifted up into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Ripper came skidding into the room, barking madly.

Uncle Vernon seized one of Marge’s feet and tried to pull her down again, but was almost lifted from the floor himself. A second later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into Uncle Vernon’s leg.

Once Aunt Marge was out of Harry’s field of vision, he turned to the Dursleys. “The same will go for you if you don’t know when to keep your mouths shut!” he hissed, pretending he did it on purpose. In reality, it just sort of happened and he went along with it.

Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him, heading for his room. Throwing everything on his trunk (including his Hogsmeade permit), he wriggled out, seized Hedwig’s empty cage, and dashed back downstairs.

“I’m going,” Harry said. “See you next summer.”

_*******_

Harry was several streets away before he collapsed, anger still surging through him. He willed his brain to think. He was stranded, quite alone, in the dark Muggle world, with absolutely nowhere to go. He had just done serious magic — forget about it being wandless, someone resembling a giant balloon was flying through the sky, the Ministry ought to notice that, which meant that he was almost certainly expelled from Hogwarts.

The first day, Tom had told him that he only lived to serve a purpose: him. If he was useless, he would use his soul to get back his body, as he could do with Harry’s soul as he pleased. But weeks later, Harry thought they had gotten along better, he was even doing what Harry requested him! Perhaps he would still find him useful. He still could possess him if he so desired, so that ought to count for something.

His wandless magic! He was able to do it without Tom helping! He had previously told him that not many managed to master it. But he had done it. He, Harry Potter, had really done it all by himself.

Where would he go until Tom came back? If still wanted him alive by his returned, he would figure something out. Meanwhile, he had to shelter himself.

A funny prickling on the back of his neck had made Harry feel he was being watched, but the street appeared to be deserted, and no lights shone from any of the large square houses.

His hand clenched on his wand. He had sensed rather than heard it: someone or something was standing in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence behind him. Harry squinted at the black alleyway. If only it would move, then he’d know whether it was just a stray cat or — something else.

“Lumos,” Harry muttered, and a light appeared at the end of his wand. He held it high over his head and Harry saw, quite distinctly, the hulking outline of something very big, with wide, gleaming eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it's too long.


	4. Chapter 4

Thoughts of the black dog plagued Harry's mind. And still without Tom's better judgement, he could only assume the worst.

It was a quarter 'til twelve and he had already finished the lesson of the night. It was a good thing he brought his copy of  _Unfogging the Future_ to the mind room. He wasn't thrilled to read the book, but he reckoned it should help settle his mind about the strange animal.

Quite the opposite it did — the book explicitly said it symbolized a death omen. Harry suppressed a shudder, whether he was afraid of Tom or Black he didn't know.

At least, his reaction towards Tom made sense, he had clearly expressed his intentions with Harry from the beginning — he was disposable. Black, on the other hand, made no sense to Harry.

He knew that Black was his parents' friend from Hogwarts and he knew he was his godfather (which meant his parents trusted him), but also that he was in Azkaban for killing thirteen people with a single curse, that he was the first person to escape the infamous prison, that he was after Harry himself, that he lost everything the night Voldemort died and that he was most likely heading to Hogwarts. How come he was his parents' friend and Voldemort's second-in-command? What happened to the boy in the photo to turn his back against everyone?

Well, right now Harry was being a hypocrite. He literally gave his soul to the man that killed his parents — or not since Tom was Voldemort's version of when he was sixteen. He was a Horcrux, a fragment of the soul separated from the original a long time ago with his own experiences — much like him. It was confusing and rather disturbing.

Everyone wanted to protect Harry Potter from Voldemort and his followers, but they didn't know that despite their best efforts, Harry Potter belonged to Voldemort.

"I am _not_ going to be murdered," Harry said out loud with his eyes closed, doing his best to convince himself that whatever was up with Black, he and Tom would overcome it. If Tom let him live that long, that is.

"I sure hope not," Tom's voice said, making Harry open his eyes in surprise, he hadn't been expecting his return, "because then I'll be wasting my time here."

Harry found himself on his feet, racing at the other end of the room to meet Tom who just had materialised in there and was taking a seat. Smiling, he said, "Tom!"

"Hello Harry, I bring the information you requested," he spoke calmly, his pleasant voice reminded Harry just how much he missed him talk — something that deeply troubled him. "First, you must inform me how you ended up here. I have heard plenty of rumours from the Ministry but I would welcome to hear the events from the source."

Even if he was afraid of Tom's reaction, Harry told him everything, hoping that he would not decide for Harry's demise. Thankfully, a playful smirk appeared on his soft features.

"I must congratulate you on doing your first wandless magic, Harry, and on that oaf of an aunt, no less," said he, his voice firm as ever, "but you were careless and that is something we need to work on."

Harry nodded seriously as a relieved smile found its way into his face.

"But Harry, dear," Tom added in a fake condescending tone, "if someone doesn't give you a punishment for something you have done, you don't request it. Never."

Harry decided to look at his feet, embarrassed. It had not been one of his sharpest moments, he had to admit.

"Stop making that face and sit down so I can tell you everything I gathered from Sirius Black," he instructed.

Harry's eyes widened remembering the reason for Tom's absence as he scrambled to get a seat next to Tom. "From the beginning, please."

"Very well. Sirius Black is the heir of the House of Black, a once-notable pureblood wizarding family, and therefore probably raised believing in pureblood elitism or the superiority of wizards' blood above the muggles'. It is well known that most of the Blacks are Dark wizards. He and his younger brother Regulus attended Hogwarts, Sirius becoming the first Black in generations to be sorted into Gryffindor where he befriended your father. They were quite the rule-breakers, and, according to Hogwarts' records, along with Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew loved to cause mischief... much like the Weasley Twins you have told me about. Though he and your father served most of them.

"It was no surprise that he rebelled against most of his family traditions and, according to a couple of very interesting letters, became romantically involved with Lupin in their fourth year until their seventh. At sixteen, Black broke away from his family and took refuge with your father and his parents — it is said they were brothers in everything but blood. Naturally, he was your father's best man at his wedding and was named your godfather and rightful guardian in case of emergency. Black was the Potter's Secret Keeper — "

"What is that?"

"Morgana, sometimes I forget how little you know," he teased Harry, flashing a grin you saw rarely on his face. "Well, in the First Wizarding War, everybody was trying to hide. Your parents, Harry, were no different, they wanted to protect you, I presume. Someone ought to put their house under the _Fidelius Charm_ , a spell that transforms a location into a secret that only one knows about. That person is called the Secret Keeper. If someone that isn't the Secret Keeper were to tell you the location, you wouldn't be able to get there. Only they choose to whom they reveal the secret to — they must do it voluntarily thus the secret cannot be blackmailed, bewitched or tortured out of them."

Tom took a pause to make Harry was following and then continued. "Reports say that he killed thirteen people with a single spell, which is laughable. There is no such spell that can take thirteen lives at once. You'd have to use an explosion but even then, the people wouldn't be intact and the rest of Pettigrew's body would have been blown to pieces — but not simply _gone!_

"They also say that he was Voldemort's right-hand-man but I found no evidence to support that fact. In fact, the guy hated everything related to Dark magic, which is a mistake many make in this biased world but he probably associated Dark magic with his parents. They weren't the best — Merlin, if Walburga and Orion had been like they were in school, I could not blame the poor lad — so that would explain why he wasn't akin to it. Back on topic, since he was their Secret Keeper, he ought to tell voluntarily the secret to Voldemort or else nothing would've happened to the Potters.

"But that's just it, he sounds like the perfect scapegoat. Picture this; a disgraced son from a family of Dark wizards wants to get into his family's good graces so he becomes a spy and betrays his best friend and his family, selling them out to their enemy. By doing this, he is promised the power some could _kill_ for. But when the baby survives and his master not, he goes crazy and kills his other best friend along with a bunch of muggles. Unfortunately for him, he is discovered and sentenced to Azkaban. He didn't even speak in his defence and wasn't given a trial even though the war finished more than a decade ago."

"What do you reckon happened, Tom?" Harry frowned, this matter was becoming more confusing. A puzzle, and one that Harry yearned to be resolved.

"What do I reckon, Harry?" Tom chuckled. "I believe I'm more interested in what _you_ reckon happened," he replied.

"I... I don't know? As you said, if I wanted to blame someone, he does fit the role of guilty putting it that way. But if he had to run away from home then that means they were awful, right? If it were me, I'd rather die than come back crawling to the Dursleys," Harry hesitated, saying whatever odd pattern his mind weaved. Then, with more resolution, he turned towards Tom and said, "I don't reckon he was a Death Eater, Tom. At least, that I am sure. The rest? I want to figure it out."

* * * * * * *

Tom, the bartender, woke Harry the next morning with his usual toothless grin and a cup of tea — something that he deeply appreciated. Harry got dressed and was just persuading a disgruntled Hedwig to get back into her cage when Ron banged his way into the room, pulling a sweatshirt over his head and looking irritable.

“The sooner we get on the train, the better,” he said. “At least I can get away from Percy at Hogwarts. Now he’s accusing me of dripping tea on his photo of Penelope Clearwater! You know,” Ron grimaced, “his girlfriend. He’s hidden her face under the frame because her nose has gone all blotchy…”

“I’ve got something to tell you,” Harry began, but they were interrupted by Fred and George, who had looked in to congratulate Ron on infuriating Percy again, a hobby they had been entertaining for some time.

They headed down to breakfast, where Mr Weasley was reading the front page of the Daily Prophet with a furrowed brow and Mrs Weasley was telling Hermione and Ginny about a love potion she’d made as a young girl. All three of them were rather giggly.

“What were you saying?” Ron asked Harry as they sat down.

“Later,” Harry muttered as Percy stormed in. He had decided last night to involve his friends, they always had managed to notice things Harry didn't. If Harry was serious about resolving the enigma, he needed all the help he could get. Of course, he would only tell them what they needed to know at the moment so as not to frighten them with all his knowledge from _questionable sources_.

Although Harry had no chance to speak to Ron or Hermione in the chaos of leaving; they were too busy heaving all their trunks down the Leaky Cauldron’s narrow staircase and piling them up near the door, with Hedwig and Hermes, Percy’s screech owl, perched on top in their cages.

“They’re here,” Mr Weasley said. “Harry, come on.” He marched Harry across the short stretch of pavement toward the first of two oldfashioned dark green cars, each of which was driven by a furtive-looking wizard wearing a suit of emerald velvet. “In you get, Harry,” said Mr Weasley, glancing up and down the crowded street. Harry got into the back of the car and was shortly joined by Hermione, Ron, and Percy.

“Right then,” he said, glancing around them. “Let’s do this in pairs, as there are so many of us. I’ll go through first with Harry.” Mr Weasley strolled toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten, pushing Harry’s trolley and apparently very interested in the InterCity 125 that had just arrived at platform nine. With a meaningful look at Harry, he leaned casually against the barrier. Harry imitated him.

In a moment, they had fallen sideways through the solid metal onto platform nine and threequarters and looked up to see the Hogwarts Express. Percy and Ginny suddenly appeared behind Harry. They were panting and had apparently taken the barrier at a run.

“Ah, there’s Penelope!” said Percy, smoothing his hair and going pink again. Ginny caught Harry’s eye, and they both turned away to hide their laughter as Percy strode over to a girl with long, curly hair, walking with his chest thrown out so that she couldn’t miss his shiny badge.

Once the remaining Weasleys and Hermione had joined them, Harry and Mr Weasley led the way to the end of the train, past packed compartments, to a carriage that looked quite empty. They loaded the trunks onto it, stowed Hedwig and Crookshanks in the luggage rack, then went back outside to say goodbye to Mr and Mrs Weasley.

Mrs Weasley kissed all her children, then Hermione, and finally Harry. He was embarrassed, but really quite pleased, when she gave him an extra hug. “Do take care, won’t you Harry?” she said as she straightened up, her eyes oddly bright. Then she opened her enormous handbag and said, “I’ve made you all sandwiches. Here you are, Ron… no, they’re not corned beef… Fred? Where’s Fred? Here you are dear…”

“Harry,” said Mr Weasley quietly, “come over here for a moment.” He jerked his head towards a pillar, and Harry followed him behind it, leaving the others crowded around Mrs Weasley. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you before you leave — ” said he in a tense voice.

“It’s all right, Mr Weasley,” said Harry, “I already know.”

“You know? How could you know?”

Harry bit his lip, he knew Tom was not going to be happy about his loose tongue, especially when only a day prior had lectured him about it. “I — er — I heard you and Mrs Weasley talking last night. I couldn’t help hearing,” Harry added quickly. “Sorry — ” 

“That’s not the way I’d have chosen for you to find out,” said Mr Weasley looking anxious.

“No — honestly it’s okay. This way, you haven’t broken your word to Fudge and I know what’s going on.”

“Harry, you must be scared — “

“I’m not,” said Harry sincerely, he did have _the greatest wizard_ alive on his side. “Really,” he added because Mr Weasley was looking disbelieving. “I’m not trying to be a hero, but seriously, Sirius Black can’t be worse than Lord Voldemort, can he?”

Mr Weasley flinched at the sound of the name but overlooked it. “Harry, I knew you were, well, made of stronger stuff than Fudge seems to think, and I’m obviously pleased that you’re not scared, but — ”

“Arthur!” called Mrs Weasley, who was now shepherding the rest onto the train. “Arthur, what are you doing? It’s about to go!”

“He’s coming, Molly!” said Mr Weasley, but he turned back to Harry and kept talking in a lower and more hurried voice, “Listen, I want you to give me your word —”

“ — that I’ll be a good boy and stay in the castle?” said Harry sarcastically.

“Not entirely,” said Mr Weasley, who looked more serious than Harry had ever seen him. “Harry, swear to me you won’t go looking for Black.”

Harry stared. There was a loud whistle. Guards were walking along the train, slamming all the doors shut.

“Promise me, Harry,” said Mr Weasley, talking more quickly still, “that whatever happens — Swear to me that whatever you might hear —”

“Arthur, quickly!” cried Mrs Weasley.

Steam was billowing from the train it had started to move. Harry ran to the compartment door and Ron threw it open and stood back to let him on. They leaned out of the window and waved at Mr and Mrs Weasley until the train turned a corner and blocked them from view.

“I need to talk to you in private,” Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione as the train picked up speed.

“Go away, Ginny,” said Ron.

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Ginny huffily, and she stalked off.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, but all were full except for the one at the very end of the train. This had only one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. Harry, Ron, and Hermione checked on the threshold. The Hogwarts Express was usually reserved for students and they had never seen an adult there before, except for the witch who pushed the food cart.

The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard’s robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with grey. Still, for Harry, strangely familiar though he couldn't quite place his face.

“Who d’you reckon he is?” Ron hissed as they sat down and slid the door shut, taking the seats farthest away from the window.

“Professor R. J. Lupin,” whispered Hermione at once.

"Oh," Harry mouthed, now understanding that he recognised him from the photo that was proudly held in his side of the mind room with a copy on his actual bedroom. Lupin was exactly what Harry needed to continue to investigate the cryptic Sirius Black.

“How’d you know that?”

“It’s on his case,” she replied, pointing at the luggage rack over the man’s head, where there was a small, battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted string. The name Professor R. J. Lupin was stamped across one corner in peeling letters.

“Wonder what he teaches?” said Ron, frowning at Professor Lupin’s pallid profile.

“That’s obvious,” whispered Harry. “There’s only one vacancy, isn’t there? Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already had two Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, both of whom had lasted only one year. There were rumours that the job was jinxed. Harry had asked Tom about those and Tom had replied he had no idea.

“Well, I hope he’s up to it,” said Ron doubtfully. “He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn’t he? Anyway…” he turned to Harry, “what were you going to tell us?”

Harry explained all about Mr and Mrs Wesley’s argument, the warning Mr Weasley had just given him, and the paper claiming he was responsible for the Potter's death but also the fact that he was had been chosen by his parents to be his godfather, quickly dismissing the later as something he investigated when he heard Black was out to get him.

When he’d finished, Ron looked thunderstruck, and Hermione had her hands over her mouth. She finally lowered them to say, “Sirius Black escaped to come after you? But it doesn't make sense, does it? If he really were close to your parents I doubt he would suddenly shift sides."

"You reckon he just betrayed them? What kind of friend _is_ that?" Ron made a face of disgust. "Disagreements happen, but to do _that_ , you'd have to be a bit off your rocker."

"Still... you’ll have to be really, really careful, don’t go looking for trouble, Harry…” Hermione advised him.

“I don’t go looking for trouble,” said Harry, nettled. “Trouble usually finds me.”

 “How thick would Harry have to be, to go looking for a nutter who wants to kill him?” said Ron shakily. "Family friend or not, Harry is not stupid."

 They were taking the news better than Harry had expected. They were concerned for his safety, yes, but that was to be expected.

“No one knows how he got out of Azkaban,” said Ron uncomfortably. “No one’s ever done it before. And he was a top-security prisoner too.”

"He _was_ brilliant at Hogwarts," Harry added. "One of the best from his grade, though, not the same could be said from his behaviour. Apparently, he and my father loved to get themselves into any sort of trouble."

Hermione snorted. "That sounds _exactly_ like the opposite of you, Harry," said she, making Ron laugh.

Suddenly, Ron froze. “What’s that noise?”

A faint, tinny sort of whistle was coming from somewhere. They looked all around the compartment.

“It’s coming from your trunk, Harry,” said Ron, standing up and reaching into the luggage rack. A moment later he had pulled the Pocket Sneakoscope out from between Harry’s robes. It was spinning very fast in the palm of Ron’s hand and glowing brilliantly.

“Is that a Sneakoscope?” said Hermione interestedly, standing up for a better look.

“Yeah… mind you, it’s a very cheap one,” Ron said self-consciously. “It went haywire just as I was tying it to Errol’s leg to send it to Harry.”

“Were you doing anything untrustworthy at the time?” said Hermione shrewdly.

“No! Well… I wasn’t supposed to be using Errol. You know he’s not really up to long journeys… but how else was I supposed to get Harry’s present to him?”

“Stick it back in the trunk,” Harry advised as the Sneakoscope whistled piercingly, “or it’ll wake him up.”

He nodded toward Professor Lupin. Ron stuffed the Sneakoscope into a particularly horrible pair of Uncle Vernon’s old socks, which deadened the sound, then closed the lid of the trunk on it.

“We could get it checked in Hogsmeade,” said Ron, sitting back down. “They sell that sort of thing in Dervish and Banges, magical instruments and stuff. Fred and George told me.”

“Do you know much about Hogsmeade?” asked Hermione keenly. “I’ve read it’s the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain —”

“Yeah, I think it is,” said Ron in an offhand sort of way. “but that’s not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!”

“What’s that?” said Hermione.

“It’s this sweetshop,” said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face, “where they’ve got everything… Pepper Imps — they make you smoke at the mouth — and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like you’re thinking what to write next — ”

“But Hogsmeade’s a very interesting place, isn’t it?” Hermione pressed on eagerly. “In Sites of Historical Sorcery it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack’s supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain —”

“— and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you’re sucking them,” said Ron, who was plainly not listening to a word Hermione was saying.

Hermione looked around at Harry. “Won’t it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?” 

"I hope so," he said eagerly. 

 * * * * * * *

After a day packed with dementors, chocolate and near-death experiences, Harry's body went to bed whereas his mind settled in the mind room. He was glad he didn't have to retell his day to Tom since he was able to _sense_ everything that was happening around his diary, and it just happened to be tucked in Harry's pocket.

"You need to be careful with your words, Harry," Tom said thoughtfully after doing a couple of spells to make sure Harry was okay, "or else when you question Lupin, he will notice you are hiding something."

"What am I hiding?" Harry asked, confused.

"You are hiding me, Harry." Tom rolled his eyes.

"Right."

Tom sighed and massaged his temple. "We need to hide the diary, Harry," he informed him. "Your friends and the Weasley girl have already seen it. If they were to see it again, in your possession, and in perfect conditions, no less, it is expected that they would report it straight to Dumbledore."

"What do I do, then?"

"Wake up and bring the diary here. I will do the rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW that I just published a chapter but while procrastinating homework I decided to write another chapter so here we are. Can you believe?? homework?? on HOLIDAYS??!! Disgusting.

After wishing a good morning to Tom, Harry closed the diary — or _his_ diary as Tom had gifted it to Harry barely three hours ago if he promised to take _very_ good care of it. Tom had put on some spells to transfigure the dark covered book into one more Gryffindor themed one with the words _"H.J.Potter"_ sewn at the back.

"Harry, are you coming?" Ron asked, taking Harry out of his trance.

"Yeah, coming," he said, putting his diary in one of his robes' pockets.

* * * * * * *

Harry had foolishly wished that Hermione's time table were the most concerning thing he faced in the day. It was only the _first day_ at Hogwarts, couldn't he have it easy? Just once?

Apparently, he was going to get richer than he already was and perhaps work for the Ministry of Magic. Unfortunately, because there was always _something_ , his copy of _Unfogging the Future_ said that the skull in his tea leaves meant "danger ahead" and the Grim was a literal death omen. It also warned him of a deadly enemy. Of course, everyone had assumed it was talking about Voldemort but Tom always reminded him that his true enemy was himself. If he didn't believe in himself, luck could only get him so far and he would become a thorn in his own foot and path.

The Animagi lecture from Professor McGonagall was interesting but Harry barely heard a word of it. His mind was replaying everything he knew about Black, the strange dog and Trelawney's premonitions. Hermione believed her to be a phoney and, knowing Tom, he probably would. Although he had heard once Tom muttering about an... incomplete prophecy, was it? Like he was confused and angry with himself. Probably his other self made a mistake regarding a prophecy and Tom couldn't believe how stupid he had been. But, honestly, it could be anything.

Professor McGonagall tried to cheer him up. Ron nearly fell off his seat when Harry told him he had indeed seen a black dog and couldn't help but to connect dots Harry wished stayed separated. That subject eventually brought the first real fight between Hermione and Ron and Harry just _knew_  it was the first of many.

Harry tried to be nice, he really did, but Care of Magical Creatures was a mess. Hagrid did his best, of that he was sure, but Malfoy had to make that comment that, while it was meant to irritate Harry and possibly Hagrid, ended with the hippogriff trying to take Malfoy's arm off. With Madam Pomfrey's magic, Harry was sure it would take two days at most to recover the skin lost — Harry had seen her grow bones overnight.

Hagrid was miserable that night, thinking that he was going to get fired. Harry, Ron and Hermione did their best to console him and assure him that would not happen.

The next day Malfoy claimed to still be injured and used it as an excuse to avoid doing things all day. Snape made Harry and Ron basically do Malfoy's potion for him. Harry counted every minute until the end of the class to keep himself from firing them several curses Tom had taught him over the summer. If Tom ever doubted his self-control, Harry would only have to remind him of this very moment.

Harry kind of missed having Tom in his head, that way they could talk if Harry was bored or he could help him with any course. But it seemed that talking that way drew way too much magic from both of them, and since Tom was relying on Harry's magic, it would be near impossible. Yeah, they had done it the first time they shook hands but Tom still had the remnants of Ginny's magic to power himself up.

The only solution for this problem, Tom had told him, was to practice when he was about to go asleep once a week to practice the use directly from his core and Horcrux. It was obvious that they were able to talk through it and, according to Tom, it also boosted his powers' range. So Harry found himself being grateful he possessed it.

It was quite disturbing how good and fast he had accepted the whole ordeal. Though, he couldn't exactly ignore that part of his life now and denying it would only make Tom grow angry and that would make his scar hurt a little.

At least Potions served a purpose that day (since whatever potion Snape showed them, Tom could teach it to him as soon as he entered the mind room). Harry found out Black was indeed coming to Hogwarts as he had been seen on his way here.

“Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?” Malfoy taunted him.

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Harry offhandedly. Unless Malfoy was going to give him more information about Black, he didn't need to hear a word he was saying.

Malfoy’s thin mouth was curving in a mean smile. “Of course, if it was me,” he said quietly, “I’d have done something before now. I wouldn’t be staying in school like a good boy, I’d be out there looking for him.”

“Why'd Harry do that, Malfoy?” said Ron roughly.

“Don’t you know, Potter?” breathed Malfoy, his pale eyes narrowed.

“Know what?” Harry played along.

Malfoy let out a low, sneering laugh. “Maybe you’d rather not risk your neck,” he said. “Want to leave it to the Dementors, do you? But if it was me, I’d want revenge. I’d hunt him down myself.”

"Oh," Harry said nonchalantly, "you mean that he betrayed my parents leading them to their deaths. Merlin, Malfoy, and here I thought you'd tell me something useful."

Malfoy was taken aback. "And — and you don't care?" he asked perplexed.

Harry grinned, confusing Malfoy even more. "Oh, I do."

Malfoy didn't question him afterwards.

The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strode over to Neville, who was cowering by his cauldron. “Everyone, gather ‘round,” said Snape, his black eyes glittering, “and watch what happens to Longbottom’s toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don’t doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned.”

Morgana bless Hermione. She managed to help Neville with his potion and Trevor remained alive at the cost of 5 points from Gryffindor and a pissed Snape. Though she disappeared behind them only to reappear in front of them so that had Harry and Ron concerned. Strangely enough, it was the second time she did that in the day. She was obviously hiding something.

Remus Lupin as a Professor was interesting alright. He got back to Peeves, disregarded Snape's decisions by choosing Neville as his assistant and made them see Snape in drag. He taught them the spell to fight off a Boggart and even what a Boggart is.

Harry couldn't deny he was curious of what form his Boggart would take form. Before, it would've been Voldemort. Now, though? Lupin didn't seem too fond of him finding out. He had deliberately stopped him from tackling the Boggart. He wasn't going to draw conclusions too soon — he feared Tom might kill him if he did — but he needed to know Lupin's reasons for that.

 * * * * * * *

 In no time at all, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become most people’s favourite class. Professor Lupin was definitely the most competent out of the other DADA teachers Harry had had. The rest of his classes were a different matter.

With Tom, they had been able to pinpoint Black's next location. Black seemed to favour crowed places with access to wizarding news. He also liked to brag about tell Harry so about Divination. During the summer holidays, he had told Harry it was a useless subject but Harry replied it was an easy O. 

In other news, the quidditch season was approaching, and Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor team, called a meeting on Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season.

There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed his six fellow team members in the chilly locker rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch field. “This is our last chance —my last chance — to win the Quidditch Cup,” he told them, striding up and down in front of them. “I’ll be leaving at the end of this year. I’ll never get another shot at it.

“Gryffindor hasn’t won for seven years now. Okay, so we’ve had the worst luck in the world — injuries — then the tournament getting called off last year.” Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. “But we also know we’ve got the best — ruddy — team — in — the — school,” he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye.

“We’ve got three superb Chasers.” Wood pointed at Alicia Spinner, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell. “We’ve got two unbeatable Beaters.”

“Stop it, Oliver, you’re embarrassing us,” said Fred and George Weasley together, pretending to blush.

“And we’ve got a Seeker who has never failed to win us a match!” Wood rumbled, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. “And me,” he added as an afterthought.

“We think you’re very good too, Oliver,” said George.

“Spanking good Keeper,” said Fred.

“The point is,” Wood went on, resuming his pacing, “the Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these last two years. Ever since Harry joined the team, I’ve thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven’t got it, and this year’s the last chance we’ll get to finally see our name on the thing…” Wood spoke so dejectedly that even Fred and George looked sympathetic.

“Oliver, this year’s our year,” said Fred.

“We’ll do it, Oliver!” said Angelina.

“Definitely,” said Harry.

Full of determination, the team started training sessions, three evenings a week. The weather was getting colder and wetter, the nights darker, but no amount of mud, wind, or rain could tarnish Harry’s wonderful vision of finally winning the huge, silver Quidditch Cup.

Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room one evening after training, cold and stiff but pleased with the way practice had gone, to find the room buzzing excitedly.

“What’s happened?”, he asked Ron and Hermione, who were sitting in two of the best chairs by the fireside and completing some star charts for Astronomy.

“First Hogsmeade weekend,” said Ron, pointing at a notice that had appeared on the battered old bulletin board. “End of October. Halloween.”

“Excellent,” said Fred, who had followed Harry through the portrait hole. “I need to visit Zonko’s. I’m nearly out of Stink Pellets.”

Harry threw himself into a chair beside Ron. "I am really excited to see the village. I heard about this restaurant that I simply have to try!" And by that, he meant Tom had recommended it. "Though, if it's on Halloween, I would prefer to stay in the castle."

Ron was about to ask why Harry's change of heart before Hermione shook her head slightly in his direction. Suddenly, Ron remembered what had happened on Halloween, twelve years ago, and closed his mouth.

Crookshanks leapt lightly onto Hermione's lap. A large, dead spider was dangling from his mouth.

“Does he have to eat that in front of us?” said Ron, scowling.

“Clever Crookshanks, did you catch that all by yourself?” said Hermione.

Crookshanks; slowly chewed up the spider, his yellow eyes fixed insolently on Ron.

“Just keep him over there, that’s all,” said Ron irritably, turning back to his star chart. “I’ve got Scabbers asleep in my bag.”

Harry yawned. He really wanted to go to bed but needed to copy the directions of the place Tom had recommended him while he still remembered the location. There was no way he'd tell him to tell it again, Harry had been adamant that he would remember the place but if he was going to visit it on the next trip, there was no way he would and he wasn't about to give Tom the satisfaction. He pulled his bag toward him, took out parchment, ink, and quill, and tried to remember what Tom said.

“You can copy mine if you like,” said Ron, labelling his last star with a flourish and shoving the chart toward Harry.

He must have thought Harry had yet to do his Divination's homework, Harry thought. 

"Don't worry, mate," he said, "I have already done that. I was about to copy the directions of the place I told you before I forget 'bout them."

* * * * * * *

The dreaded day came and Harry didn't even want to see Tom right now. He knew it was silly, Tom had not killed his parents. But Harry was sure Tom understood his hesitance to join him that day.

He climbed a staircase, thinking vaguely of visiting the Owlery to see Hedwig, and was walking along another corridor when a voice from inside one of the rooms said, “Harry?”

Harry doubled back to see who had spoken and met Professor Lupin, looking around his office door.

“What are you doing?” said Lupin. “Where are Ron and Hermione?”

“Hogsmeade,” said Harry, in a would-be casual voice.

“Ah,” said Lupin. He considered Harry for a moment. “Why don’t you come in? I’ve just taken delivery of a Grindylow for our next lesson.”

“A what?” said Harry.

He followed Lupin into his office. In the corner stood a very large tank of water. A sickly green creature with sharp little horns had its face pressed against the glass, pulling faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers.

“Water demon,” said Lupin, surveying the Grindylow thoughtfully. “We shouldn’t have much difficulty with him, not after the Kappas. The trick is to break his grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle.”

The Grindylow bared its green teeth and then buried itself in a tangle of weeds in a corner.

“Cup of tea?” Lupin said, looking around for his kettle. “I was just thinking of making one.”

“All right,” said Harry awkwardly.

Lupin tapped the kettle with his wand and a blast of steam issued suddenly from the spout.

“Sit down,” said Lupin, taking the lid off a dusty tin. “I’ve only got teabags, I’m afraid — but I daresay you’ve had enough of tea leaves?”

Harry looked at him. Lupin’s eyes were twinkling. “How did you know about that?” Harry asked.

“Professor McGonagall told me,” said Lupin, passing Harry a chipped mug of tea. “You’re not worried, are you?”

“No,” said Harry. He thought for a moment of telling Lupin about the Sirius Black, or the dog he had seen during the summer but decided not to.

Something of Harry’s thoughts seemed to have shown on his face, because Lupin said, “Anything worrying you, Harry?”

“Yes,” he said, putting his tea down on Lupin’s desk. “You know that day we fought the Boggart?”

“Yes,” said Lupin slowly.

“Why didn’t you let me fight it?” said Harry abruptly.

Lupin raised his eyebrows. “I would have thought that was obvious, Harry,” he said, sounding surprised.

Harry was taken aback. “Why?” he said again.

“Well,” said Lupin, frowning slightly, “I assumed that if the Boggart faced you, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort.”

Harry stared. Of _bloody_ course he thought that, though Lupin had said Voldemort’s name and that had surprised Harry. Not many people had the guts to master it.

“Clearly, I was wrong,” said Lupin, still frowning at Harry. “But I didn’t think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialize in the staffroom. I imagined that people would panic.”

“I didn’t think of Voldemort,” said Harry honestly. “I — I remembered those Dementors.”

“I see,” said Lupin thoughtfully. “Well, well… I’m impressed.” He smiled slightly at the look of surprise on Harry’s face. “That suggests that what you fear most of all is — fear. Very wise, Harry.”

Harry stared yet again, this time to his desk, or more specifically one of the framed photos that adorned it. It was the same exact photo Harry had in his nightstand and in the mind room. Harry wanted to snort, Tom had taken him Lupin's photo, and now that he remembered, wasn't Lupin in a relationship with Black when they were at Hogwarts?

"Professor, how well do you know Sirius Black?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like the cliffhanger :)  
> I didn't proofread it so I hope I didn't make any mistakes.


	6. Chapter 6

"Tom!" Harry called him as soon as he entered the mind room.

Tom was relaxed reading a copy of the Daily Prophet and drinking a cup of tea. He looked up to see Harry in the face with his eyebrows furrowed. "I thought you didn't want to see me today."

"I didn't but that doesn't matter now!" Harry affirmed. "I talked with Remus and he had some interesting things to say about Sirius Black."

He took a sip of his drink and left the paper on the table near him. "Do tell me then," he said.

Harry took a deep breath. "We talk about a Boggart, first, but the topic changed as soon as I saw the photo you gave me on my birthday on his desk. I asked about his relationship with Sirius Black and he, well, he admitted to having one back at Hogwarts. He said that after leaving Hogwarts they left as good friends but because of the war they distanced and that something big ought to happen there since he apparently became a Death Eater."

"So even his friend thinks it was unusual for him to be a Death Eater," Tom interrupted him. "My apologies for interrupting you, Harry."

"It's fine," Harry assured him. "Remus also talked about how Sirius and my father used to help him anytime he was in trouble. He said that, although he seemed like a quiet kid, he was the mastermind behind most of the pranks. That most of the teachers resented both Sirius and my father because they were one of the most intelligent people in the school but were always on detention." Harry's face lighted a little at sharing something about his father. "People didn't treat Remus like that because they thought he mostly went along with what they planed, and Pettigrew was the one who mostly went along though he did enjoy the pranking and the sneaking around. After that, Snape entered the room with a goblet, gave it to him and told him to drink it as soon as he could before going away."

"Let me guess," Tom said in Harry's long pause, "you recognised the content in the goblet."

"Yes!" Harry exclaimed. "It was the potion you taught me just before you went to search for information on Black."

"Wolfsbane?" he asked, unsure.

"Exactly," Harry grinned. "He must be a werewolf that uses the potion to drug the wolf in him to make his inhibitions stronger. Although it's not healthy to do that, most weres choose to take it because they hate the wolf in them. See? I learn a lot around you. You are a great teacher."

Tom smiled slightly. "Alright, I'll take that as a compliment. But, you were saying your professor is a werewolf?" He chuckled as he said the last part.

"What's so funny?" Perhaps it was an inside joke of Tom.

"Apart from the fact that the translation for your werewolf professor's name is Were McWerewolf, not much really."

Harry laughed, it certainly was funny. "Well, I told him I recognised the potion and he admitted to being a werewolf. But I guess he expected me to act disgusted for he was surprised how nonchalant I was about it. He told me my father, Sirius and Pettigrew were the same, that they didn't abandon him when they found out. If anything, they were there for him during full moons after a while. Now, that got me thinking because werewolves are heavily aggressive to humans."

"Are you sure he said 'during full moons'?"

Harry nodded. "Those were his exact words."

"Continue," hummed Tom.

"That's it, actually. He asked to leave and I came here."

"Are you thinking what I am thinking, Harry?" said Tom.

"They must have found another way to accompany him," Harry said, thoughtful. His emerald eyes glimmered remembering something. "Professor McGonagall talked about... people that could become aminals at will. What was that called?"

"Animagi," Tom crooked a smile. "Splendid, exactly what I was thinking, Harry."

"Would a werewolf be hostile towards them?"

"He would certainly not."

"Then, that means Sirius Black is an animagus," Harry concluded.

"What would also explain how he escaped Azkaban," Tom added. "Dementors don't go after animal souls. If he had turned into an animal skinny enough to pass through the bars he, theoretically, could have escaped."

"But... wouldn't the Ministry have already identified him?"

"Not if he never registered."

Harry gaped in surprise. "The dog — I don't know how about the bars in Azkaban but he certainly was skinny enough to pass through muggle prison bars."

"Are you sure? You could be jumping to conclusions too quickly," Tom warned him.

"No, I am sure. He was looking straight at me without moving a muscle, no normal dog does that." Harry was very confident with this and he didn't fear to show it on his voice.

"Very well, I trust your judgement Harry," Tom conceded after a minute of silence. "We still need to figure out what happened to the thirteen people he supposedly killed, and most importantly, what exactly happened to Pettigrew."

 

* * * * * * *

 

Despite it being Halloween it had been such a pleasant evening that Harry’s good mood couldn’t even be spoiled by Malfoy, who shouted through the crowd as they all left the hall, “The Dementors send their love, Potter!”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed the rest of the Gryffindors along the usual path to Gryffindor Tower, but when they reached the corridor that ended with the portrait of the Fat Lady, they found it jammed with students.

“Why isn’t anyone going in?” said Ron curiously.

Harry peered over the heads in front of him. The portrait seemed to be closed.

“Let me through, please,” came Percy’s voice, and he came bustling importantly through the crowd. “What’s the holdup here? You can’t all have forgotten the password — excuse me, I’m Head Boy —”

And then a silence fell over the crowd, from the front first, so that a chill seemed to spread down the corridor. They heard Percy say, in a sudden sharp voice, “Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick.”

People’s heads turned; those at the back were standing on tiptoe.

“What’s going on?” said Ginny, who had just arrived.

A moment later, Professor Dumbledore was there, sweeping toward the portrait; the Gryffindors squeezed together to let him through, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved closer to see what the trouble was.

The Fat Lady had vanished from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously that strips of canvas littered the floor; great chunks of it had been torn away completely. Dumbledore took one quick look at the ruined painting and turned, his eyes sombre, to see Professors McGonagall, Lupin, and Snape hurrying toward him.

“We need to find her,” said Dumbledore. “Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady.”

“You’ll be lucky!” said a crackling voice. It was Peeves the Poltergeist, bobbing over the crowd and looking delighted, as he always did, at the sight of wreckage or worry.

“What do you mean, Peeves?” said Dumbledore calmly, and Peeves' grin faded a little. He didn’t dare taunt Dumbledore. Instead, he adopted an oily voice that was no better than his cackle. “Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn’t want to be seen. She’s a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful,” he said happily. “Poor thing,” he added unconvincingly.

“Did she say who did it?” said Dumbledore quietly.

“Oh yes, Professorhead,” said Peeves, with the air of one cradling a large bombshell in his arms. “He got very angry when she wouldn’t let him in, you see.” Peeves flipped over and grinned at Dumbledore from between his own legs. “Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

Professor Dumbledore sent all the Gryffindors back to the Great Hall, where they were joined ten minutes later by the students from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, who all looked extremely confused.

“The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle,” Professor Dumbledore told them as Professors McGonagall and Flitwick closed all doors into the hall. “I’m afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately,” he added to Percy, who was looking immensely proud and important. “Send word with one of the ghosts.”

Professor Dumbledore paused, about to leave the hall, and said, “Oh, yes, you’ll be needing…”

One casual wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.

“Sleep well,” said Professor Dumbledore, closing the door behind him.

The hall immediately began to buzz excitedly; the Gryffindors were telling the rest of the school what had just happened.

“Everyone into their sleeping bags!” shouted Percy. “Come on, now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!”

“C’ mon,” Ron said to Harry and Hermione; they seized three sleeping bags and dragged them into a corner.

“Do you think Black’s still in the castle?” Hermione whispered anxiously.

“Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be,” said Ron.

“It’s very lucky he picked tonight, you know,” said Hermione as they climbed fully dressed into their sleeping bags and propped themselves on their elbows to talk. “The one night we weren’t in the tower…”

_The one night we weren't in the tower..._

“I reckon he’s lost track of time, being on the run,” said Ron. “Didn’t realize it was Halloween. Otherwise, he’d have come bursting in here.”

"Maybe he didn't," Harry whispered.

"Whatever do you mean?" asked Ron.

"Maybe he didn't lot track of time," said Harry in the same volume as before, he didn't want anyone listening to their conversation by accident. "Maybe he knew it was Halloween and that's why he did it. My parents died a night like this, maybe he remembered." He didn't know why he thought that, but it was now a possibility stuck in his mind.

Hermione nor Ron talked after that but they did catch Snape implying that Remus could have helped Sirius somehow. He didn't say why he believed it, but Harry knew it was because they used to be best friends.

When Harry entered the mind room, he and Tom discussed their theories about Sirius Black strange behaviour. One of the theories was that he just wanted to remember the old times when they were all in Gryffindor, another one was that he heard about Harry not going and wanted to talk to him, or kill him though neither of them was convinced with the latter they couldn't just ignore it.

"I hope the souls of your dead roam peacefully, Harry," said Tom out of the blue.

"Er... thanks, I guess," replied Harry. "What are you talking about, Tom?"

"Today is Samhain," said Tom as if it explained everything. 

"Today's Halloween, Tom."

"Do you know what Samhain is, Harry?" Tom asked curiously.

Harry shook his head confused. He had never even heard about it.

"There is so much I need to teach you about the Wizarding culture." Tom fumed, "I can't believe the lack of importance people give their own culture nowadays."

"I'm sorry."

Tom tried to calm down taking a deep breath. "It's not your fault, Harry. You have nothing to apologise for. I, on the other hand, should do a much better job teaching you important things."


	7. Chapter 7

“Be quiet,” said Snape coldly. “I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin’s lack of organization.”

“He’s the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had,” said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class.

Snape looked more menacing than ever. “You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you — I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss —”

Harry watched him flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which he must know they hadn’t covered.

“— werewolves,” said Snape.

Snape did _not_ just do that. 

"Professor, werewolves are a topic we were going to cover by the end of the year," Harry stated trying to calm down the anger in his demeanour. 

“Mister Potter,” said Snape in a voice of deadly calm, “I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394.” He glanced around again. “All of you! Now!”

Last night, Tom had taught him how to squeeze the bones in and off a hand. Harry hadn't particularly liked that lesson but now he was trying to master all of his self-control to avoid doing it to Snape. It was no secret Snape loathed Remus, and if he could, he would try to tarnish the image of everyone about werewolves and about Remus.

“Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?” said Snape.

Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, whose hand, as it so often did, had shot straight into the air. Harry knew of course, but he wasn't going to answer.

“Anyone?” Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His twisted smile was back. “Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn’t even taught you the basic distinction between —”

“We told you,” said Parvati suddenly, “we haven’t got as far as werewolves yet, we’re still on--”

“Silence!” snarled Snape. “Well, well, well, I never thought I’d meet a third-year class who wouldn’t even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are…”

“Please, sir,” said Hermione, whose hand was still in the air, “the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf —”

“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,” said Snape coolly. “Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.”

Hermione went very red, put down her hand, and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears. It was a mark of how much the class loathed Snape that they were all glaring at him, because every one of them had called Hermione a know-it-all at least once, and Ron, who told Hermione she was a know-it-all at least twice a week, said loudly, “You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?”

Snape advanced on Ron slowly, and the room held its breath. “Detention, Weasley,” Snape said silkily, his face very close to Ron’s. “And if I ever hear you criticize the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed.”

When the bell rang at last, Snape held them back. “You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention.”

Harry _really_ hated Snape.

* * * * * * *

Harry woke extremely early the next morning; so early that it was still dark. For a moment he thought the roaring of the wind had activated the monitor in the mind room that informed him when someone was trying to wake him up or something that in normal circumstances would awaken him happened. Then he felt a cold breeze on the back of his neck and sat bolt upright — Peeves the Poltergeist had been floating next to him, blowing hard in his ear.

“What did you do that for?” said Harry furiously. Peeves puffed out his cheeks, blew hard, and zoomed backwards out of the room, cackling.

Harry fumbled for his alarm clock and looked at it, he hadn't looked at the clock when he was leaving the mind room in a hurry. It was half-past four. In a few hours, he would be out on the Quidditch field to play against Hufflepuff. He got up, dressed, picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand, and walked quietly out of the dormitory. Sleep and Tom could wait, Quidditch could not.

As Harry opened the door, something brushed against his leg. He bent down just in time to grab Crookshanks by the end of his bushy tail and drag him outside.

“You know, I reckon Ron was right about you,” Harry told Crookshanks suspiciously. “There are plenty of mice around this place — go and chase them. Go on,” he added, nudging Crookshanks down the spiral staircase with his foot. “Leave Scabbers alone.”

The noise of the storm was even louder in the common room. Harry knew better than to think the match would be cancelled; Quidditch matches weren’t called off for trifles like thunderstorms. Nevertheless, he was starting to feel very apprehensive. Wood had pointed out Cedric Diggory to him in the corridor; Diggory was a fifth year and a lot bigger than Harry. Seekers were usually light and speedy, but Diggory’s weight would be an advantage in this weather because he was less likely to be blown off course.

* * * * * * *

He lost track of time. It was getting harder and harder to hold his broom straight. The sky was getting darker, as though night had decided to come early. Twice Harry nearly hit another player, without knowing whether it was a teammate or opponent; everyone was now so wet, and the rain so thick, he could hardly tell them apart.

With the first flash of lightning came the sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle; Harry could just see the outline of Wood through the thick rain, gesturing him to the ground. The whole team splashed down into the mud.

“I called for a time-out!” Wood roared at his team. “Come on, under here —”

They huddled at the edge of the field under a large umbrella; Harry took off his glasses and wiped them hurriedly on his robes. “What’s the score?”

“We’re fifty points up,” said Wood, “but unless we get the Snitch soon, we’ll be playing into the night.”

“I’ve got no chance with these on,” Harry said exasperatedly, waving his glasses.

At that very moment, Hermione appeared at his shoulder; she was holding her cloak over her head and was, inexplicably, beaming. “I’ve had an idea, Harry! Give me your glasses, quick!”

He handed them to her, and as the team watched in amazement, Hermione tapped them with her wand and said, “Impervius!”

“There!” she said, handing them back to Harry. “They’ll repel water!”

Wood looked as though he could have kissed her. “Brilliant!” he called hoarsely after her as she disappeared into the crowd. “Okay, team, let’s go for it!”

Hermione’s spell had done the trick. Harry was still numb with cold, still wetter than he’d ever been in his life, but he could see. Full of fresh determination, he urged his broom through the turbulent air, staring in every direction for the Snitch, avoiding a Bludger, ducking beneath Diggory, who was streaking in the opposite direction.

There was another clap of thunder, followed immediately by forked lightning. This was getting more and more dangerous. Harry needed to get the Snitch quickly —

He turned, intending to head back toward the middle of the field, but at that moment, another flash of lightning illuminated the stands, and Harry saw something that distracted him completely, the silhouette of an enormous shaggy black dog, clearly imprinted against the sky, motionless in the topmost, empty row of seats.

Harry’s numb hands slipped on the broom handle and his Nimbus dropped a few feet. Shaking his sodden bangs out of his eyes, he squinted back into the stands. The dog had vanished.

Had that been Sirius Black?

“Harry!” came Wood’s anguished yell from the Gryffindor goal posts. “Harry, behind you!”

Harry looked wildly around. Cedric Diggory was pelting up the field, and a tiny speck of gold was shimmering in the rain-filled air between them. With a jolt of panic, Harry threw himself flat to the broom handle and zoomed toward the Snitch.

“Come on!” he growled at his Nimbus as the rain whipped his face. “Faster!”

But something odd was happening. An eerie silence was falling across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was forgetting to roar. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as though Harry had gone suddenly deaf — what was going on?

And then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over him, inside him, just as he became aware of something moving in the field below. Before he’d had time to think, Harry had taken his eyes off the Snitch and looked down. At least a hundred Dementors, their hidden faces pointing up at him, were standing beneath him. It was as though freezing water were rising in his chest, cutting at his insides.

And then he heard it again… Someone was screaming, screaming inside his head… a woman…

_“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”_

_“Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now…”_

_“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —”_

Numbing, swirling white mist was filling Harry’s brain… What was he doing? Why was he flying? He needed to help her… She was going to die… She was going to be murdered… He was falling, falling through the icy mist.

_“Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy…”_

A shrill voice was laughing, the woman was screaming, and Harry knew no more.

 * * * * * * *

The first thing Harry did when he entered the mind room that night was ask what had been nagging his mind all day long. "Tom, was the one I heard when the Dementors got close, my mother?"

Tom sighed and furrowed his eyebrows. "I believe so, Harry. Though I have no idea how you remember that."

Harry chose to ignore Tom's later remark. "She was saying my name, she was begging for mercy."

"Yes."

Silence. Harry thought carefully what he was going to ask next. "Are you going to grow up to be like that?"

"I don't think so, my counterpart has done and stood for things I would never consider doing."

"Are you going to make me do things like that?"

"Kill? Yes, Harry, you will learn how, not now but you will. Killing an innocent who is begging for their life? I would never."

Harry nodded, satisfied with the answer for now.

* * * * * * *

Remus had brought along a glass box containing a Hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looked as though he were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless looking.

"Lures travellers into bogs,” said Remus as they took notes. “You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead — people follow the light — then —”

The Hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass.

When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Harry among them, but —

“Wait a moment, Harry,” Remus called. “I’d like a word.”

Harry doubled back and watched Remus covering the Hinkypunk’s box with a cloth. 

"I actually wanted to say to things to you," he said, opening his drawer he took out a piece of parchment. "What does this mean?" he asked, confused, raising it so Harry could see what he was referring.

It was the homework Snape had left them the day Remus was recovering from the full moon. Except that, instead of letters, it appeared to scribble up until his name that was written in English at the bottom.

Harry blinked, then noticed he could read the scribble he had written.

"Er — it was supposed to be the homework but I was just calling Snape an arse. And wishing you well."

Remus looked like he didn't know if he was supposed to be angry or amused.

"I... can you not read it?" Harry asked.

"Can you read it, Harry?"

"Yes, I don't know how but... maybe I slipped into another language? I was quite angry at Snape making us write about how to kill a werewolf."

"What kind of language? I have never seen anything like it. It just looks a little slippery scribble," Remus asked with pursed lips.

 _Parseltongue_ , a part of his mind provided.

"I... maybe Parseltongue? I have never written it before but I do know it," Harry said truthfully. 

"The rumours were true then? Your parents never — _How_ — ?"

Harry laughed bitterly. "Dumbledore seems to think that the night Voldemort tried to kill me, he, unknowingly, transferred some of his powers and abilities to me."

Remus analysed him. "You don't believe that," he stated.

"I believe he did something to me." Harry sighed, he didn't want to have that conversation with Remus. Not yet, at least. "What was the other thing you wanted to talk about?"

Remus accepted the change of subject. "I heard about the match,” said he, “and I’m sorry about your broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?”

“No,” said Harry. “The tree smashed it to bits.”

Remus sighed. 

“They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance.”

“Did you hear about the Dementors too?” said Harry with difficulty.

Remus looked at him quickly. “Yes, I did. I don’t think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time… furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds… I suppose they were the reason you fell?”

“Yes,” said Harry. He hesitated, and then the question he had to ask burst from him before he could stop himself. “Why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just —?”

“It has nothing to do with weakness,” said he sharply. “The Dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don’t have.” 

A ray of wintry sunlight fell across the classroom, illuminating Remus’s grey hairs and the lines on his young face. “Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can’t see them. Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself — soul-less and evil. You’ll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life. And the worst that happened to you, Harry, is enough to make anyone fall off their broom. You have nothing to feel ashamed of.”

And Harry had two souls with horrible experiences each. 

“When they get near me —” Harry stared at Remus’s desk, his throat tight. “I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.”

Remus made a sudden motion with his arm as though to grip Harry’s shoulder, but thought better of it.

 _He feels guilty for not been with me before_ , Harry thought.

“Why did they have to come to the match?” said Harry bitterly.

“They’re getting hungry,” said Remus coolly, shutting his briefcase with a snap. “Dumbledore won’t let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up… I don’t think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch field. All that excitement… emotions running high… it was their idea of a feast.”

“Azkaban must be terrible,” Harry muttered.

Remus nodded grimly. “The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don’t need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they’re all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheery thought. Most of them go mad within weeks.”

“ Sirius Black escaped from them,” Harry said slowly. “He got away…”

Remus’ briefcase slipped from the desk; he had to stoop quickly to catch it. 

“Yes,” he said, straightening up, “Sirius must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn’t have believed it possible… Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long…”

“You made that Dementor on the train back off,” said Harry suddenly.

“There are — certain defences one can use,” said Lupin. “But there was only one Dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist.”

“What defences?” said Harry at once. “Can you teach me?” 

Harry knew he could not ask this of Tom. He already trained him nightly to be his... right-hand man when he grows up and helped him with Potions, without mentioning the stuff about Sirius. He didn't want to burden him more.

“I don’t pretend to be an expert at fighting Dementors, Harry — quite the contrary… plus, I'm a — ”

“That doesn't stop you from being the best Professor of Defence Against The Dark Arts Hogwarts has ever seen. But if the Dementors come to another Quidditch match, I need to be able to fight them —”

He looked into Harry’s determined face, hesitated, then said, “Well… all right. I’ll try and help. But it’ll have to wait until next term, I’m afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. The full moon... "

"I understand, don't worry."

* * * * * * *

Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays. Both Ron and Hermione had decided to remain at Hogwarts, and though Ron said it was because he couldn’t stand two weeks with Percy, and Hermione insisted she needed to use the library, Harry wasn’t fooled; they were doing it to keep him company, and he was very grateful.

Harry wanted to scream, too. Harry used to celebrate Christmas for as long as he could remember, but that was before he knew the existence of Yule and he wasn't very keen on Hogwarts not celebrating a wizarding holiday. If they wanted to celebrate muggle festivities, they ought to celebrate them all. What if a kid was Jewish or Muslim? Would they be forced to celebrate Christmas too? It was better to do only the wizarding kinds, and if someone wanted to celebrate another, it would not be imposed on the others as it would be done privately.

Tom had described Yule as less biased as he could, giving him only facts until Harry asked what he thought about it. Tom replied that he wasn't fond of it since he had killed his father and his family that day.

Harry had been surprised, to say the least. Tom, then, explained a little about his father and how he had just abandoned his mother and him. 

_"You are the bastard, I take it? From the witch? How much money do you want?"_

_"A pity this cursed offspring of yours looks so much like you. Touched by the devil's hand."_

_"Hurry up so he can leave."_

Tom's intentions to visit them had not only been to kill him. He had gone to try to understand his father's perspective and maybe, even though he did not say Harry understood, to see if he loved him. If his father did not want him, he was prepared to kill him and obliviate the mind of whoever else was there. But they all had treated him like filth and Tom's rage got the better of him, taking the lives of his father and his grandparents.

Shaking his mind off those thoughts, Harry decided to visit Remus again. He wanted to confirm that Sirius' animagus form was a black dog. 

After knocking three times, Remus let him enter with a quiet, "c'mon in," from the inside.

Harry did and closed the door behind him.

"Harry," Remus explained surprised," I was not expecting you."

"Sorry for coming unannounced but..."

"Nonsense, Harry. You know you are welcomed here anytime. But what is it you wanted to talk to me?"

"I know my father was an illegal animagus," Harry said coolly, "I know that Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew were too."

"...how did you figure it out?" Remus replied not bothering to argue with him.

"You said they accompanied you through and after the full moon. Wild werewolves are aggressive to humans but not to other animals. Thus, they were animagi and transformed with you during the full moon," Harry explained.

Remus stifled a laugh. "Clever like your mother, not that James wasn't. But I still don't see the question."

Harry took a deep breath. "What were their animagi forms?"

Remus looked at him funnily as if he could not comprehend his question. "Of all the things you could've asked, I didn't think you'd ask me that one now," said he. "James is a deer with antlers and all, Sirius is a large black dog and Peter is a small rat."

 Large black dog, it did sound like the one he had been seeing.

"That's where their nicknames come from," Remus added as an afterthought.

"Their what?" asked Harry.

"We called ourselves the Marauders," said Remus with a ghost of a smile. "James was Prongs, Sirius was Padfoot, Peter was Wormtail, and me, Moony."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You must be surprised about the double update but the truth is that I wrote everything as a single chapter. I noticed that it was way too long so I split it.

Harry closed the door behind him as he walked down the hall, a small smile plastered across his face as if he were a little kid whose parents gave in one of his tantrums. Somehow, he felt lighter than when he arrived but Harry could only guess was because his theory had been mostly confirmed, plus, he gained new information about his father. That was something he truly treasured, every single bit of information.

"Prongs..." he said, testing how the words felt in his mouth, "Padfoot... Moony... Wormtail..."

It felt weird but in a good sort of way. If life had been different, he would have grown up knowing these people and their names would just be the names of people he cared deeply about. There would be no hesitation in calling them like there was now. He wouldn't feel as if these words were well-kept secrets that would disappear in the wind. 

Footsteps approached him from his back, it was more than one person, Harry could tell. Probably two. He gazed over his shoulder to see the people who had possibly wanted to catch him by surprise, only to spot two identical red-heads.

"My, my, Harry," said George with mirth in his laugh.

"Did our ears deceived us — "

" — or you just said what we think you said?"

"Er — " Harry blanked for a second before regaining his composure. "Whatever do you mean by that?"

"C'mon, Harry," Fred insisted, "we know you aren't stupid — "

" — we just want to know — "

" — if we heard you correctly."

The twins looked at him with identical knowing smirks. Harry would normally love to continue the chase and act stupid, but he was really curious as to how did they recognized those names. His parents and his friends had left school way before any of Ron's siblings had entered Hogwarts.

"I said _Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail_ ," Harry replied. "How do you know them?"

"The better question here would be," George inquired after sharing another look with his brother, "how do _you_ know them?" 

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I asked first."

"But we are older and as your older brothers we say, you answer first," said Fred bopping Harry's nose. And only because Harry liked Fred and George and the Weasleys in general, he would not cut his finger off. Plus, he was in a good mood.

Harry sighed. There was no arguing with them, honestly. "I know them because they are my father's friends, plus my father," he answered.

The twins gapped like fish before a huge grin took its place. "Are you serious?" both of them blurted.

Harry smiled. "No, that would be my godfather, or as you know him, Padfoot."

It was obvious the twins didn't get it, but they looked pleased with the new information. Harry wanted to remind them to tell him how they know of them but each of them took one of his arms and carried it over their shoulders. Running, the twins seemed to carry him as if he was weightless, off to some forgotten corridor. Harry didn't dare interrupt them, he did want to know their relation to the Marauders, plus he trusted them with his safety.

Once they put him on the ground, Fred took a blank piece of parchment from the pocket of his robes. "This is how we know of the Marauders," he said excitedly as he pointed his wand at it and whispered just for good measure, " _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._ "

Thin ink lines began to spread like a spider’s web from the point that Fred’s wand had touched. They fanned into every corner of the parchment, then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_

_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present_

_THE MARAUDER’S MAP_

It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing was the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labelled with a name in minuscule writing. Astounded, Harry bent over it. A labelled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker’s cat, Mrs Norris, was prowling the second floor; and Peeves the Poltergeist was currently bouncing around the trophy room.

This map showed a set of passages he had never entered. 

“There are seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four” — he pointed them out — “but we’re sure we’re the only ones who know about these. Don’t bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it’s caved in — completely blocked. And we don’t reckon anyone’s ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow’s planted right over the entrance."

"They are our heroes!" said George. "We owe then so much!"

“Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers."

"The best of it is that it never lies! We tested it! Lee took a potion that turned him into MaLageen but his labelled never changed!"

"We didn't know it was your father's, otherwise we would have given it to you sooner."

"Who's your father?"

"We've never met a Marauder but meeting the son is just as cool!"

Harry felt overwhelmed by all the information and had to blink a few times to dispell the shock. "My father was Prongs and you do know a Marauder. Professor Lupin was nicknamed Moony by his friends."

Fred and George turned quickly to look at each other and handed Harry the Map.

"I guess that's our cue — "

 " — to go to Professor Lupin's office," Fred finished. They were both taking their leave when he exclaimed a soft "Oh!" and came back.

"I almost forgot Harry," said he, "once you finish reading it you must say — "

" — _Mischief Managed!_ " George said as he tapped the Map with his wand making it go blank.

"If you don't, anyone can read it."

 

* * * * * * *

 

Yule's Hogsmeade visit was just around the corner but neither of Harry's friends seemed very thrilled about it. They kept casting strange glances at each other and at Harry anytime they thought he was not looking.

"Oh, right," Harry replied to a comment made by Ron. "In a couple of days is Yule's Hogsmeade visit so I was wondering if you could show — "

"Harry," Hermione interrupted him, "do you even know what Yule is?"

Harry nodded and she continued. "Then you know only dark pureblood wizarding families celebrate it, right?"

Harry blinked in confusion. Fortunately, they were the only ones in the Gryffindor Common Room, not even the portraits were there. 

"Where d'you get that?" Ron asked, clearly confused just like Harry. "Yule's not dark. True, mostly purebloods celebrate it but — "

"You haven't read _'Dark Celebrations, What To Avoid'_ , do you?"

"Er — no," replied Ron.

"It says it has been labelled as a dark festivity since 1946 in all Europe, it's not forbidden but it's still dark," Hermione stated.

"Hermione, that rubbish," Ron argued. "My family doesn't celebrate it because... er — I guess my parents just prefer Christmas but my second cousin Essie from South Africa does."

Hermione looked appalled, almost like she had just been hit in the face with whatever book she read that from.

Ron turned to Harry, reassuring. "Don't worry mate, I think it's great you want to... embrace Wizarding festivities."

"Why aren't they celebrated at Hogwarts, then? And how did Harry found about them?" Hermione tried again. Harry knew she wasn't trying to offend anyone, but he really had to work with her in not believing everything she read in a book.

"They aren't celebrated since Dumbledore became Headmaster of the school," Harry replied this time. He couldn't keep quiet anymore, he tried to hold his tongue but he still failed. At least, he didn't explode with that temper of his. "One would figure why, the first thing he does after becoming Headmaster, is to remove Wizarding traditions from the school. It's as if we are not wizards at all."

Ron made a face as if he wasn't at all sure what he heard. "What are you implying, Harry? And Hermione's right, how do you even know this? It's not bad that you want to know more, I guess, but you have never told us anything about this."

Ron and Hermione shared an odd look like they were discussing something Harry wasn't part of. "Harry, we are worried about you," Hermione said softly. "I — I didn't want to say anything since it's understandable that with Black on the loose you may be a little off... But one day you struggle with a spell and the next it's like you almost master it! Or you sleep too much! Every chance you are by yourself, I find you asleep and that's not healthy... I... we are just worried about you."

"Mate, and it's not only that," Ron continued, "sometimes you say things like... like that Dumbledore is trying to... eradicate wizarding traditions or something. That's... not like you. Plus, it's Dumbledore! How could he do something like that?"

Harry took a deep breath and the diary in his pocket stirred slightly. 

"It's just — I've been trying to figure out the stuff about Sirius Black and somehow I found myself in the Restricted Section reading about Wizarding Traditions and a couple of books on politics. I'm not doing anything illegal, I just want to know more about my past. At least, from what I've gathered, I don't think Sirius Black is guilty." Though he had technically lied about the 'illegal' part, he didn't believe his friends would be thrilled to know about his lessons with Tom. "For the rest... To be truthful, I'm not sleeping very well. Some nights I snuck out of bed and go practice in an unused classroom. I just — I didn't tell you because I thought you wouldn't approve."

Ron looked at Harry concerned, of course he didn't like his best friend studying instead of sleeping. Also, he did think associating oneself to an escaped convict was not healthy or good but after remembering the bars on Harry's window... he could understand why he was so desperate in finding anyone who could take him in. Even if it was Black. Ron would prefer if he stayed with his family but the Weasleys weren't legally Harry's guardians, Black was.

He decided to ignore for now everything else Harry said, knowing both of him and Hermione that Harry was still hiding something.

"How are you so sure Black is innocent?" he asked reluctantly.

Harry's face lightened up. "Don't tell anyone about this, okay? But Professor Lupin is a werewolf and — "

"He is what?" Ron looked positively horrified.

"I knew it!" Hermione exclaimed. "Remember the homework Professor Snape left us about werewolves? Their conditions fitted with Professor Lupin, though I didn't say anything."

"Is it safe for us to be in a school with... _him_?

"Don't be daft Ron, of course it is! He only transforms on full-moon and there is a potion to make him harmless so it's perfectly safe!"

"Alright..." said Harry. "As I was saying, you already know that Black was friends with my father, but he was also friends with Peter Pettigrew and Professor Lupin. Best friends, even after they found out about his secret. I've been doing some research, and a lot of people seemed to think Black abhorred Lord Voldemort and anything related to it, which is why I don't think he ever was a Death Eater. Also, there are no records of a trial for him. They just gave him a look and threw him into Azkaban."

Hermione seemed to be contemplating it, Ron was mildly trying to cover his disgust about Lupin's wolfish nature if only for Harry's sake.

"That does sound unfair, regardless of the person in question," Hermione reasoned.

"Okay, so, Black is innocent of being You-Know-Who's right arm but we are still not sure about the rest, Lupin's a wolf, and the people in the Ministry are bigots for thinking that just because the Black family has a dark reputation, every Black is a Death Eater," Rom summarized. "Bloody hell."

"What do you mean _'we'_?"

 "You didn't think we would leave you to deal with Black and — everything else alone, did you?" Ron huffed, as if the answer was obvious enough and it was stupid to be discussing it. 

"Harry," Hermione called him, "we are your friends. Of course, we are going to help you."

"Hermione -"

"In fact," said she, ignoring him, "I'm going to the library right now." 

Ron rolled his eyes as she disappeared through the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Of course she is."


	9. Chapter 9

Yule arrived, and with it, the Hogsmeade visit too. The first thing the trio decided to do was go to Honeydukes, after that, Harry convinced them to visit the place Tom had recommended him — it was a bookshop not really well known, but Tom told him there were books about everything. Maybe he could find something about Animagi, Fidelius Charm or the like that would help him decipher the mystery of his past. Took a little time of convincing on Ron's part but he finally agreed.

Honeydukes was very crowded, not only Hogwarts students but other wizards and witches apparently decided to go shopping that day. Harry edged among them, looking around, and suppressed a laugh as he imagined the look that would spread over Dudley’s face if he could see where Harry was now.

There were shelves upon shelves of the most succulent-looking sweets imaginable. Creamy chunks of nougat, shimmering pink squares of coconut ice, fat, honey-colored toffees; hundreds of different kinds of chocolate in neat rows; there was a large barrel of Every Flavor Beans, and another of Fizzing Whizbees, the levitating sherbet balls that Ron had mentioned; along yet another wall were ‘Special Effects’ — sweets: Droobles Best Blowing Gum (which filled a room with bluebell-colored bubbles that refused to pop for days), the strange, splintery Toothflossing Stringmints, tiny black Pepper Imps (‘breathe fire for your friends!’), Ice Mice (‘hear your teeth chatter and squeak!’), peppermint creams shaped like toads (‘hop realistically in the stomach!’), fragile sugar-spun quills, and exploding bonbons. 

"You really think is a good idea to be here when Black is looking for you, Harry?" Hermione asked him, always the voice of reason. And he might have agreed if he didn't have Tom or all the knowledge he taught him. If Sirius was really who the papers said he was, he ought to be the one to watch out, lest he woke up in Azkaban with a few fingers less.

Though he really didn't believe Sirius Black betrayed his parents, the fate of whoever did it, didn't look that bright at all.

"Yes, Hermione," Harry replied. He looked around them to very they weren't being watched (and just in case put on a privacy charm) before he took the folded Map from his pocket. " _I swear I am to no good_ ," he murmured and it instantly revealed it wasn't simply a piece of parchment.

Briefly, he explained about the Marauder's Map and everything Fred and George told him. 

“How come Fred and George never gave it to me!” said Ron, outraged. “I’m their brother!”

"Forgot to mentioned," Harry said apologetically, "my dad helped in its creation so since it technically my heirloom, Fred and George said I should take it."

Ron pulled a face. "Well, that makes sense. At least, you will lend it to me, will you?"

“But Harry isn’t going to keep it!” said Hermione, as though the idea were ludicrous. “He’s going to hand it in to Professor McGonagall, aren’t you, Harry?”

“No, I’m not!” said Harry.

“Are you mad?” said Ron, goggling at Hermione. “Hand in something that good? Plus, didn't you hear him? It's rightfully his! Just like the cloak, are you going to tell him to hand it in too?"

“But what about Sirius Black?” Hermione hissed. “He could be using one of the passages on that map to get into the castle! The teachers have got to know!”

"If we tell the teachers, we'll get Fred and George in trouble for nicking it from Filch. And, if Black knows about the passages, shouldn't I be the first to know? If he is going after me, I should know where he is so I can avoid him. Also,” said Harry quickly, “there are seven secret tunnels on the map, right? Fred and George reckon Filch already knows about four of them. And of the other three — one of them’s caved in, so no one can get through it. One of them’s got the Whomping Willow planted over the entrance, so you can’t get out of it. And the one I just came through — well — it’s really hard to see the entrance to it down in the cellar — so unless he knew it was there —” 

Harry remembered that Sirius had also helped make the map. But they didn't need to know that now, did they? Hermione would only insist in her idea of giving it to an adult. And he couldn't. Not when it was his father's.

Ron cleared his throat significantly, and pointed to a notice pasted on the inside of the sweetshop door.

_BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC_

_Customers are reminded that until further notice, Dementors will be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade every night after sundown. This measure has been put in place for the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will be lifted upon the recapture of Sirius Black. It is therefore advisable that you complete your shopping well before nightfall._

_Merry Christmas!_

“See?” said Ron quietly. “I’d like to see Black try and break into Honeydukes with Dementors swarming all over the village. Anyway, Hermione, the Honeydukes owners would hear a break-in, wouldn’t they? They live over the shop!”

“Yes, but — but —” Hermione seemed to be struggling to find another problem. “Look, Harry still shouldn’t be coming into Hogsmeade. Signed form or not, what if Sirius Black turns up today? Now?”

“He’d have a job spotting Harry in this,” said Ron, nodding through the mullioned windows at the thick, swirling snow. “Come on, Hermione, it’s Christmas — or, er, Yule, I reckon. Harry deserves a break.”

Hermione bit her lip, looking extremely worried.

“Seen the Fizzing Whizbees, Harry?” said Ron, grabbing him and leading him over to their barrel. “And the Jelly Slugs? And the Acid Pops? Fred gave me one of those when I was seven — it burnt a hole right through my tongue. I remember Mum walloping him with her broomstick.” Ron stared broodingly into the Acid Pop box. “Reckon Fred’d take a bite of Cockroach Cluster if I told him they were peanuts?”

When Ron and Hermione had paid for all their sweets, the three of them left Honeydukes for the blizzard outside. Hogsmeade looked like a Christmas card; the little thatched cottages and shops were all covered in a layer of crisp snow; there were holly wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in the trees.

Harry shivered; they were blatantly ignoring rightful Wizarding Traditions to impose Muggle ones. He wouldn't have minded if along with the Christmas decoration there were some Yule ones, but there was no trace of them.

They headed up the street, heads bowed against the wind, Ron and Hermione shouting through their scarves.

“That’s the post office —”

“Zonko’s is up there —”

“We could go up to the Shrieking Shack —”

"After the bookstore, Ron," Hermione reminded him.

Harry lead the way to an alley that sort of reminded Harry to Knockyturn alley. A smile stretched across Harry's face as he recognized Yule decorations adorning the walls, there were still a couple of Christmas lights and other decorations that, Harry guessed, must belong to other religions.

"Are you sure is this way, Harry?" asked Ron.

"'Course it is, Ron," Harry said as they passed through the empty alley. People ought to have hide if there was a Hogwarts' visit, there would be too many people on the streets.

They kept walking in silence, Ron and Hermione exchanged a few glances along the way. Finally, they stopped in front of an ostentatious store almost at the end of the alley.

The building wasn't honestly that different from the ones in the centre of Hogsmeade. It had big windows that allowed them to see the inside; Hermione's eyes almost bulged at the sight of the books. There were thousands of books, some floating and rearranging themselves, others that seemed to be in a heated discussion, some floating aimlessly around the room. They couldn't see anyone inside but that didn't make the bookstore any less lively. The outside walls were bright orange contrasting with the fancy piece of blue painted wood where the name of the bookstore  _'Howlett's Luxurious Bookstore and Library'_  was written with a fine white penmanship. 

"We are here!" Harry announced, stepping inside with both of his friends at his tail.

 

* * * * * * *

 

After rummaging through hundreds of books, Harry finally found useful books that he definitely was getting. As opposed to their initial observation, there was a person inside the bookstore, she was just not in the window's path. Although the blonde witch was seated behind the counter, Harry could tell she was a pureblood — or was raised as such — by the way she carried herself.

He grabbed the books  _Mind Arts and Useful Keys To Learn Them, Secrets of the Fidelius Charm,_  and _Idiot's Guide to Chess, Learn The Plays!_ and walked towards the counter to purchase them.

The witch didn't even spare him a glace, which Harry was grateful. He paid the amount she indicated him and put his books in a silver bag. Everything was really colourful in the store.

"What are you buying, Harry?" Hermione inquired, carrying a thick yellow book. "I'm getting  _Medical Magics, The Secret of Staying In Full Health_. Hogwarts teaches a lot but it doesn't cover medical stuff and you never know when you might need this knowledge. Better safe than sorry!"

Harry looked at his bag with the already purchased books. "A book about chess and about the Fidelius Charm, hopefully, it will help us with the investigation," replied he, clearly forgetting to mention the one about Mind Arts. Whether not illegal, they would raise too much suspicion between his friends.

He glanced sideways to Ron's direction. He was looking a little flushed reading a book called ' _Quidditch Star Players Through The Ages'_. Harry couldn't understand why Ron would flush as violently as he was reading about famous Quidditch stars with their respective photographs.

"Are you going to buy anything Ron?" Harry asked him.

Ron shut the book when he heard his voice. Weird. Anyhow, he shook his head and put the book back from where he took it. 

“Tell you what,” said Ron, his teeth chattering once they left the warm bookstore, “shall we go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?”

Harry was more than willing; the wind was fierce and his hands were freezing, so they crossed the road, and in a few minutes were entering the tiny inn. It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

“That’s Madam Rosmerta,” said Ron. “I’ll get the drinks, shall I?”

Harry and Hermione made their way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.

“Merry Christmas!” he said happily, raising his tankard.

Harry drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted and seemed to heat every bit of him from the inside.

A sudden breeze ruffled his hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again. Harry looked over the rim of his tankard and choked. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak — Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

Harry narrowed his eyes in curiosity. What were Professor McGonagall, Flitwick and Hagrid doing with the Minister? By Hagrid's expression, it just wasn't a friendly meeting. He pointed his wand at the Christmas tree beside their table and whispered, “Mobiliarbus!”

Ir rose a few inches off the ground, drifted sideways, and landed with a soft thump right in front of their table, hiding them from view. Staring through the dense lower branches, Harry saw four chairs move back from the table right beside theirs, then heard the grunts and sighs of the teachers and minister as they sat down. 

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione cried and was quickly shushed by Ron.

"I have a feeling," he replied. 

“A small gillywater —” said a woman Harry guessed was Rosmerta.

“Mine,” said Professor McGonagall’s voice.

“Four pints of mulled mead —”

“Ta, Rosmerta,” said Hagrid.

“A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella —”

“Mmm!” said Professor Flitwick, smacking his lips.

“So you’ll be the red currant rum, Minister.”

“Thank you, Rosmerta, m’dear,” said Fudge’s voice. “Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won’t you? Come and join us…”

“Well, thank you very much, Minister.”

Harry watched her march away and back again. His heart was pounding uncomfortably in his throat.

Hermione’s leg gave a nervous twitch next to him.

“So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?” came Madam Rosmerta’s voice.

Harry saw Fudge twist in his chair as though he were checking for eavesdroppers. Then he said in a quiet voice, “What else, m’dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?”

Bingo. He'd love to tell Tom how relaying on his gut was useful once in a while — an argument they had the night before where Tom had stated it was better to rely on facts and observation than gut feelings — but he figured he would be needing that energy later. He could always tell him at night.

“I did hear a rumour,” admitted Madam Rosmerta.

“Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?” said Professor McGonagall exasperatedly.

“Do you think Black’s still in the area, Minister?” whispered Madam Rosmerta.

“I’m sure of it,” said Fudge shortly.

“You know that the Dementors have searched the whole village twice?” said Madam Rosmerta, a slight edge to her voice. “Scared all my customers away… It’s very bad for business, Minister.”

“Rosmerta, dear, I don’t like them any more than you do,” said Fudge uncomfortably. “Necessary precaution… unfortunate, but there you are… I’ve just met some of them. They’re in a fury against Dumbledore — he won’t let them inside the castle grounds.”

“I should think not,” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?”

“Hear, hear!” squeaked tiny Professor Flitwick, whose feet were dangling a foot from the ground.

“All the same,” demurred Fudge, “they are here to protect you all from something much worse… We all know what Black’s capable of…”

“Do you know, I still have trouble believing it,” said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. “Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought… I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you’d told me then what he was going to become, I’d have said you’d had too much mead.”

Finally, a sensible person.

“You don’t know the half of it, Rosmerta,” said Fudge gruffly. “The worst he did isn’t widely known.”

“The worst?” said Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity. “Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?”

“I certainly do,” said Fudge.

“I can’t believe that. What could possibly be worse?”

“You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta,” murmured Professor McGonagall. “Do you remember who his best friend was?”

“Naturally,” said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. “Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here — ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!” 

“Precisely,” said Professor McGonagall. “Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course — exceptionally bright, in fact — but I don’t think we’ve ever had such a pair of troublemakers —”

Little gang? Did she mean the Marauders?

“I dunno,” chuckled Hagrid. “Fred and George Weasley could give ‘em a run fer their money.”

“You’d have thought Black and Potter were brothers!” chimed in Professor Flitwick. “Inseparable!”

“Of course they were,” said Fudge. “Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him.”

“Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?” whispered Madam Rosmerta.

“Worse even than that, m’dear…” Fudge dropped his voice and proceeded in a sort of low rumble. “Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn’t an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm.”

“How does that work?” said Madam Rosmerta, breathless with interest.

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. “An immensely complex spell,” he said squeakily, “involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find — unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window!”

“So Black was the Potters’ Secret-Keeper?” whispered Madam Rosmerta.

“Naturally,” said Professor McGonagall. “James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself… and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters’ Secret-Keeper himself.”

“He suspected Black?” gasped Madam Rosmerta.

“He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements,” said Professor McGonagall darkly. “Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who.”

“But James Potter insisted on using Black?”

“He did,” said Fudge heavily. “And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed —”

“Black betrayed them?” breathed Madam Rosmerta.

“He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters’ death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colours as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it —” 

“Filthy, stinkin’ turncoat!” Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet.

“Shh!” said Professor McGonagall.

“I met him!” growled Hagrid. “I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all the people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an’ James’s house after they were killed! Jus’ got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an’ his parents dead… an’ Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin’ motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin’ there. I didn’ know he’d bin Lily an’ James’s Secret-Keeper. Thought he’d jus’ heard the news o’ You-Know-Who’s attack an’ come ter see what he could do. White an’ shakin’, he was. An’ yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN’ TRAITOR!” Hagrid roared.

“Hagrid, please!” said Professor McGonagall. “Keep your voice down!”

“How was I ter know he wasn’ upset abou’ Lily an’ James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou’! An’ then he says,  _‘Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I’m his godfather, I’ll look after him —’_  Ha! But I’d had me orders from Dumbledore, an’ I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an’ uncle’s. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there.  _‘I won’t need it anymore,’_  he says. 

“I shoulda known there was somethin’ fishy goin’ on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin’ it ter me for? Why wouldn’ he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he’d bin the Potters’ Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin’ ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o’ hours before the Ministry was after him.

"But what if I’d given Harry to him, eh? I bet he’d’ve pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes’ friends’ son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there’s nothin’ and no one that matters to em anymore…”

A long silence followed Hagrid’s story. Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction, “But he didn’t manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!”

“Alas, if only we had,” said Fudge bitterly. “It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew — another of the Potters’ friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters’ Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself.”

“Pettigrew… that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?” said Madam Rosmerta.

“Hero — worshipped Black and Potter,” said Professor McGonagall. “Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I — how I regret that now…” She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold.

“There, now, Minerva,” said Fudge kindly, “Pettigrew died a hero’s death. Eyewitnesses — Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later — told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, ‘Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?’ And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens…”

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, “Stupid boy… foolish boy… he was always hopeless at dueling… should have left it to the Ministry…”

“I tell yeh, if I’d got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn’t’ve messed around with wands — I’d ‘ve ripped him limb — from — limb,” Hagrid growled.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Hagrid,” said Fudge sharply. “Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I — I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him… a heap of bloodstained robes and a few — a few fragments —”

Fudge’s voice stopped abruptly.

“Well, there you have it, Rosmerta,” said Fudge thickly. “Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black’s been in Azkaban ever since.”

Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh.

“Is it true he’s mad, Minister?”

“I wish I could say that he was,” said Fudge slowly. “I certainly believe his master’s defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man — cruel… pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there’s no sense in them… but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You’d have thought he was merely bored — asked if I’d finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the Dementors seemed to be having on him — and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night.”

“But what do you think he’s broken out to do?” said Madam Rosmerta. “Good gracious, Minister, he isn’t trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?”

“I daresay that is his — er — eventual plan,” said Fudge evasively. “But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing… but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he’ll rise again…”

There was a small chink of glass on wood as Professor McGonagall set down her glass.

“You know, Cornelius, if you’re dining with the headmaster, we’d better head back up to the castle,” said Professor McGonagall.

One by one, hems of cloaks swung into sight, and Madam Rosmerta disappeared behind the bar. The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the teachers had disappeared.

“Harry?” Ron’s and Hermione’s faces appeared to be devastated by the news. They were both staring at him, lost for words

"This doesn't change a thing, you know," said Harry, sipping his butterbeer.

"What do mean, Harry? Didn't you hear the Minister?" Hermione asked perplexed.

Harry finished his drink before looking around. "Let's go outside."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the real update I swear

Harry, Ron and Hermione strolled in silence out of the Three Broomsticks and continued to do so until they reached a small hill that much like the others was covered in white snow. Harry took out his wand and wordlessly cast the same privacy charm he had used earlier before sighing deeply and massaging the bridge of his nose, raising his glasses just a bit.

"First," he said looking at them in the eyes, "you can't just believe whatever people say to you."

"Harry!" Hermione reprimanded him. "You are talking about the Minister himself! He surely knows — "

"It doesn't matter who he is, Hermione," Harry interrupted her with an even voice. "What if Dumbledore tells you I am hippogriff, are you gonna believe that too?"

"That's ridiculous, Harry!" she exclaimed, starting to get annoyed. "Why would the Minister lie about something like that?"

"Maybe he wasn't lying," Ron supplied with a soft voice, making his opinion known but playing with the sleeves of his coat timidly. "Maybe he truly believes that is what happened, right Harry?"

"Right!" Harry smiled victoriously. "And that's exactly why you can't trust without a shadow of a doubt what people or books tell you! They may be talking about what they believe happened! You need a thorough investigation and many opinions to understand any topic!"

With a frown in her face, Hermione pursed her lips thinking carefully Harry's words. 

"With that in mind," Harry continued talking, knowing the effect his reasoning would have on his friend, "it is interesting to know that Black was as sane one could be considered the circumstances. That must require a strong will and the ability to focus... on neutral thoughts, I reckon. Since the Dementors feed of your happiness, the ability to remain indifferent must be vital."

"How do you know it wasn't Dark Magic?" Hermione questioned him, this time her voice was only with curiosity instead of blatant accusation.

"I've read a lot about Dementors," Harry replied honestly, "and it is also said that not everyone is capable of doing it since by default everything we do we associate with emotions and in desperate times we call to mind the happy ones to fuel us with hope. In Azkaban though, you can't have hope for that resembles a happy emotion and thus will only make you go insane faster."

"That sounds... dark," Ron muttered with contempt. 

"It's death magic, actually," Harry corrected him before sobering up. "Anyway, even Rosmerta agreed with the fact that Black didn't seem the Death Eater type and we know the Ministry is biased and that they assumed all about Black being sick of his double agent-role and wanting to proclaim his loyalty to Lord Voldemort since they never tried to get a confession out of him. Probably started as rumours until people in the Ministry started believing them. Hermione? Last night you said you found old newspapers about Black's imprisonment, anything to add?"

She nodded slowly. "You were right about them not mentioning anything about a trial and the rest was filled with awful assumptions like that when James Potter rejected him for your mother, he became mad and joined You-Know-Who swearing for revenge. Of course, they used words much more vulgar and awful to describe your mother and Black."

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. "Ron? Did you find anything looking through other Death Eater cases?"

Ron's eyes widened as if he just had a meaningful revelation. "Some Death Eaters just confessed right away their crimes while others called names to get off. Not a single one of them mentioned Black. Richmond Heron did mention a Regulus Black but he was already dead and it was also suspected that You-Know-Who did it so that name didn't save him from Azkaban. It's true that many mentioned that they didn't know everyone but you must at least know the name of the right-hand-man of the person you serve, right? That's so fishy and there's clearly something wrong somewhere."

"Regulus Black was Sirius Black's brother," Harry said remembering what Tom had told him many months ago. "The more reason not to be on Lord Voldemort's side, innit? He lost a brother so why would he swear loyalty to the one that killed him? Doesn't make sense, except if he wasn't a Death Eater and people just pinned the blame on him."

"But how did the rumours of him being You-Know-Who's right-hand started?" Hermione inquired with a thoughtful look. Quickly, it changed into one that denoted triumph. "Of course! The culprit must have started it so people don't look for them! They also must have been in a lower rank with not much skill so no one would remember them correctly for being incompetent."

The frown in Ron's face deepened, his nose wrinkling in discomfort. "Professor McGonagall did say Pettigrew never had much skill in her classes and he was also a close friend of the Potters..." he said, not daring to finish the sentence.

Hermione gasped. "That must be why Black went after him!"

"It could be," Harry admitted, surprised. "But he couldn't possibly be their only friend with those characteristics, could he? What if the real traitor convinced Black that Pettigrew was the mole and if he was as impulsive as people claimed he was, he could've run out for blood without considering if that was true or not."

"We could ask Lupin," Ron proposed, "or maybe Hagrid since Lupin might get too suspicious."

"There is still one thing that doesn't add up with that theory," Hermione reminded them. "Black was the Potter's Secret Keeper, not Pettigrew."

"C'mon Hermione!" Ron whined. "If we are to believe the people at the Ministry are morons who believe in rumours, that Black was never aligned with You-Know-Who and that, honestly, it was difficult knowing who to trust in those times if what happened to Harry's parents is any indication, it is obvious what really happened!"

Hermione looked enraged, her face covered with a blush of embarrassment. "Please, do tell!"

_Finally_ , Harry thought to himself. His friends were catching up with what he had theorized weeks ago. But, in their defence, they didn't have Tom on their side.

"Despite everything the Potters trusted Black, everyone knew that! What use is a Secret Keeper whose identity isn't a secret?"

Hermione dropped her jaw as her anger visibly dissipated. "Are you saying...?"

"That Black was just a cover for the real Secret Keeper?" Ron finished her sentence. "Hell yes, I am! It would all finally make sense!"

"Except for how Black escaped Azkaban," Hermione pointed out.

Ron looked down and furrowed his eyebrows in deep thought. "Why are you so quiet, mate? You are usually very opinionated." He glanced at his direction, recognizing a certain spark in his eyes that usually appeared when he talked back to Snape. Ron pressed his lips together, firmly. "You already knew, did you Harry? That's why you are so silent, seeing us realizing what you knew for Merlin knows how long!" he snapped.

"Ron! Accusing him of that is totally unfair!" Hermione exclaimed. "Harry is probably in shock — "

"He is right," Harry said with a tone of finality. He had been so caught up watching them unveil the mystery he forgot to guard his expression and remain inconspicuous. "I knew — but! Before you attack me, listen to me. I... I know we've been investigating this mistery of sorts and I should've told you as soon as those thoughts crossed my mind. Yet, first, I didn't have proof and second, I was planning on telling you! Just... after Hogsmeade."

Harry knew it wasn't technically the truth, though it wasn't technically a lie either. He had wanted to tell them by bits, knowing that they would react badly at the sudden dump of information. Also, he needed to create a cover story, like where did the information even come from and if it was reliable. He couldn't exactly tell them his very trusty source was Tom Riddle and newspapers he gathered, without mentioning the letters that Tom had gave him which violated the privacy of both the sender and receiver. Although, Harry knew that he couldn't be picky about that as they were very useful.

A dry laughed echoed from Ron's lips. "Right," he said, "anything else you found that you might want to share it with the class?"

Harry bit his lower lip. "Professor Lupin and I had an... interesting conversation. It took me a while but I figured out that he wasn't the only with a secret in his group of friends. My father, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew were Animagi. _Illegal_ Animagi!"

"What?!" Both of his friends exclaimed at the revelation.

"I didn't know if I was correct so I confronted Professor Lupin about it and he confirmed it! My father's form was a deer, Black's was a large black dog and Pettigrew, a rat."

Ron paled, his voice raised a few octaves. "Large black dog? Like the one you've been seen on Quidditch matches and outside your muggle house? Like _that_ large black dog?"

"I believe so," Harry replied calmly.

"He could've hurt you! Oh, Harry!" Hermione gasped.

"But he didn't."

Her eyes widened. "Those some big missed opportunities if he wanted to kill you. If he isn't working for You-Know-How as you suggested, it would make sense that he let you live, otherwise it makes no sense. Maybe you are right! But what was he doing?"

"He only observed me," Harry shrugged. He had spent so much time formulating theories about what really happened and the real traitor that he had completely forgotten his actual interactions with the man. Or should he say dog? 

"At least," Hermione said after a while of reigning silence, "we know how he got off of Azkaban."

Ron looked at her like she was mental. "What? How?"

"The dog Harry saw was skinny, was he not? If he was skinny enough he could've passed right through the bars and swam to shore," she said smugly. "What? Did you not see it? It's obvious what really happened!"

Ron crossed his arms with a huff recognising it was just sweet karma. Harry stifled a laugh.

"It's getting dark," Harry pointed out, "we should head back before the train parts."

Ron relaxed his arms, putting them by his side and on the inside of his pockets, groaning. Hermione sighed loudly, nodding in agreement with Harry's statement. 

* * * * * * *

"I want you to try it again," Tom instructed Harry.

It had been two days after Yule and Harry still hadn't interrogated Hagrid about his parents' friends and possible traitors. Tomorrow he had finally classes with him and he was so determined to get his answers that the class would not finish for him until he got them. Unfortunately, that same determination was making him fail at his stance for this new jinx Tom was teaching him.

Harry groaned. "I've already done it like seven times!"

"You'll do the eighth one then," Tom replied with a bored voice. "Once you severe the mannequin's arm or make a deep cut through the chest and the throat, you can do whatever you want for the next hour. Until then, I am afraid you will continue."

Harry breathed out forcefully. "Fine," he hissed and made the wand motion towards the mannequin. Doing non-verbal spells had been hard at first, but like almost anything else that Tom taught him, he mastered it. This time his spell hit the target in the correct position and made the damage Tom expected him to make, cutting both arm, throat and chest since he cast two of them with barely a half-second in between.

Harry knew his duelling skills were good, yet not the best. He still was struggling with wandless magic, his breathing became too erratic after a couple of minutes on a duel and the angle of his elbow was bigger and a little to the left than it should've been.

Tom knew Harry was far better than he gave himself credit for. The only person Harry ever duelled was Tom, whose duelling skills were, in all honesty, perfect, and perhaps even more so. He had trained himself ever since second grade to combine both the traditional and modern duelling, taking into consideration the other's strengths and weak points to use them in his favour. From a sideways glance, he could detect if someone was injured or in pain by the contraction of their fists, a subtle limp or a tick in their eyes. Despite Harry's age and his short period of proper training, he could hold his ground more than he would've expected.

Tom was sure that if a fight broke out in Hogwarts positioning Harry against any student, he would be the victor. Tom's teachings were good but Harry had a natural talent for this — much like with Quidditch.

* * * * * * *

Ron and Hermione arrived at the Great Hall, their eyes immediately falling on Harry sitting by his usual spot on Gryffindor table with his eyes hooked up on a book. They approached him and sat at their usual places murmuring a court greeting. Ron saw the book by the corner of his eye but said nothing as he chugged down his breakfast. Hermione recognised the book as one that he brought from the store in that weird alley in Hogsmeade and licked her lips in anticipation.

“Which book are you reading, Harry?”

Harry looked up briefly, uninterested in what he saw if his expression of boredom had any say at all, and turned his gaze back into the book, not before grabbing a strawberry with his fork. “Mind Arts and Useful Keys To Learn Them,” he muttered.

Hermione bit her lip, trying again. “Why are you reading it?”

“Leave him alone, Hermione,” Ron hissed crossly. “If he doesn’t want to tell us, he doesn’t have to.”

Harry shut down his book. “I am reading it so I can tell you things,” he explained vaguely and abruptly. “Did you know that Dumbledore and Snape know Legilimency? The art of navigating through the other’s thoughts and memories?”

Ron looked positively livid. “Snape can do what?”

Hermione swallowed. “I… I did read the rumours of Professor Dumbledore being one of the best Legilimens there are but some journalists discredited this theory because he works with children and that he isn’t registered.”

“Yes, well,” Harry gave a dry laugh, “my father and his friends never registered their… forms but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t accomplish the process and master the art.”

“Why are we focusing on Dumbledore when Snape can know that I cheated on his last test? Should I start preparing for my funeral?” Ron inquired dramatically but clearly worried that it may become a reality.

“I am focusing on Dumbledore because every time something happens at the castle — Quirrel in first year, the diary in second year — and we discover something, _anything_ , he already knows what we are going to do, all the information we recollected and even the parts we omitted telling,” Harry said earnestly.

Ron stopped eating and jerked in Harry’s direction. “Is that why you’ve been digging on Dumbledore’s past? How you knew about Halloween and things like that?”

Harry exhale, allowing a grin to form into his face. “I trusted him blindly before, and Ginny almost got killed. It won’t happen again so I want to learn to shield my mind from his tricks.”

Ron choked. “Are you saying that Dumbledore was behind —?”

“No,” Harry interrupted him, “that was all… Riddle.” Harry caught himself from saying Tom on time. “But after Myrtle’s death, he knew what was down there. If not, he wouldn’t have been able to send Fawkes.”

“I thought you said he told you it was because you were loyal to him,” Hermione interceded.

“Oh, he did say that,” Harry said, curling his lip in disgust. “But I had a bad feeling so I investigated and found that the only way for Fawkes to get down there was because his master commanded him. But unlike the owls, phoenixes don’t magically know where they are supposed to be going unless the owner tells them.”

Ron crinkled his nose at the implication. “So he knew?” he said, his tone turning dangerously darker. They were lucky they were in the Great Hall so early and muttering to each other. “We could’ve saved time and killed the basilisk before You-Know-Who could do that to my sister if he had opened his mouth? Harry can speak Parseltongue, he could’ve said something and Harry opened the entrance so he and other magical capable adults dealt with the beast… but he left the job to us? Why?”

“I assume he wants to test me,” Harry said offhandedly. “He wants to see if, when the times comes, I will be capable of defeating Lord Voldemort.”

“Harry,” Hermione noted, “you are a child. He couldn’t possibly do that to you, he knows how much you have suffered.”

“That doesn’t matter, Hermione,” Harry remarked. “What does matter is that nobody is going to be in my head unless I want them to. So I am going to learn Occlumency to block Dumbledore’s, Snape’s and anyone else’s Legilimency. That’s the purpose of the book.”

“Can I too?” Ron faltered.

Harry grinned. “Of course! We could all learn together! The only problem is that I am apparently not that good at it since it requires you to separate yourself from your feelings and I am —“

“— an emotional person,” Hermione said. “We know.”

“Are you going to try it too?”

“Yes, Ron,” Hermione decided. “I do believe that there must be a logical explanation about all of this… or mostly, but I also don’t fancy anyone in my head.”

“You are not going to tell Dumbledore, are you Hermione?” Harry asked, yet it sounded more like a threat, daring her to do it and face the consequences.

“N-no,” Hermione croaked, briefly scared from Harry. “Just in case I am not going to do it. But how can we stop anyone from reading our minds until we know Occlumency?”

Harry hummed, stopping to look scary at which Hermione let go a breath she had not known she had been holding. “The book mentioned that they need you to look directly at their eyes, so avoiding eye contact should suffice for now.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I forgot that the holidays started right after the last Hogsmeade visit and I am here to make up for it. Just pretend that they started after their class with Hagrid.

It was the day after their class with Hagrid (the very one where he dismissed them and told them to visit him during the holidays so they couldn't exactly ask him anything that day) and also the first day of the holidays. Despite everything, they weren't in a hurry to go to Hagrid's, especially Hermione. She decided she wanted to investigate more about Dumbledore and Black, and Ron knew there was nothing he could do in order to stop her. For him, Harry's proof has enough; Dumbledore did always seemed to know exactly what was happening before they told them. Before he might have thought he was a really good guesser but the idea that he was a skilled Legilimence made much more sense. That, of course, would explain the strange twinkle his eyes always had.

That would also mean he knew about Quirell having You-Know-Who attach to his nape and the threat he possessed. It would mean knowing Lockheart was a fake and knowing that Harry had had a diary with the words _'T. M. Riddle'_ at its back, and done nothing. With everything that they found about Black, Ron had started to believe in his innocence, but Dumbledore? Wasn't he Chief of the Wizengamont? He could've given Black a look and declared him innocent.

Ron hadn't had the heart to remind Harry of these last facts, knowing that would only fuel his new-found dislike for the man. Telling Harry that he could've grown with someone that cared for him (after the way he talked about the Dursleys and what he managed to see last summer, it was no brainer figuring that out) but wasn't able to because the Chief of the Wizengamont, the one that supposedly had to uphold justice, didn't care? Maybe he already knew, but Ron wasn't about to remind him.

If Lupin was available, it was obvious why Harry's custody hadn't gone to him. Lupin was a werewolf, after all. Many wizards and witches felt disgust for these creatures (Ron included) but even he had to admit Lupin wasn't so bad. He had been Harry's father best friend, had been kind to Neville when he wasn't being kind to himself, he was a great teacher and always put Malfoy in his place. Above all, he seemed like he really cared for Harry and somehow Ron found himself looking past his werewolf nature.

After breakfast, it was him that approached them outside the Great Hall, asking for a moment in his office. Hermione excused herself, hurrying to the library to continue her research but he and Harry followed Lupin. There, he opened a cabinet and handed Harry a big package wrapped in red paper.

Harry looked at him questioningly. "What is this for?" he asked.

Professor Lupin flushed, rubbing his palms together awkwardly. "I, uh, don't exactly know if you celebrate Christmas or not but I wanted to give you this present. I - I know that I haven't been that much present in your upbringing or life in general but I wanted you to know that I do consider you family," he explained.

Harry positively beamed for a second before Lupin continued talking. "I know that Professor Dumbledore told me to stay away from you in order for you to have a normal childhood. And that meant no letters, gifts or anything but I couldn't help myself and — "

Whatever happy or warm emotion Harry (or Ron by consequence) felt, disappeared, only leaving shook in Ron's case, and in Harry's—fury.

"He what now?" Harry growled, interrupting Lupin in a surprisingly low voice with a certain edge to it. Ron could've also sworn that he felt something... odd coming from Harry in strange waves. Ron could tell Lupin felt it too by the look he was giving Harry.

"Mate calm down, please," Ron urged him. He was really worried about his best friend.

Lupin looked down, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder wordlessly and only lifted his head after Harry's eyes were focused on him. "I didn't like it either, Harry. But I realized that I — I am not a student anymore, there is no reason why I should do whatever he tells me to do. I owe the man — Dumbledore was the only reason I got accepted at Hogwarts, but I have come to understand that he may not always be right, even if he has his heart in the right place. I — I won't abandon you again, I promise."

Lupin closed his mouth for a second, blinking away any powerful emotion in order to remain calmed and collected. Before he could say another word, Harry engulfed him in a hug.

Ron felt like he was intruding in their special, heart-to-heart moment so he retreated to a corner, pretending to be interested in the books on the bookshelf while they talked in hushed tones. Ron always tried to include Harry into his family, but he knew it was not quite the same. He wanted his own, and he had finally found a part of it.

Harry needed this, he realised. And probably Lupin did too. But he was not going to leave unless Harry told him, that was. He wanted to be there in case it became too much for him and he needed a familiar face and a friend.

Looking through the books' titles he noticed something that caught his attention. _Light and Dark Curses and Counter-curses for a Curious and Well-prepared Mind_ , he read after forcing his eyes a little. At first, he thought he read that wrong — it normally happened, it wouldn't have been the first time and possibly not the last — but after rereading it with every bit of concentration in his body, he knew he had read correctly.

Light Curses? Did such a thing even exist?

Somehow he didn't think it would be the right time to ask Professor Lupin about his book collection, and when Harry called for him to go, he followed suit after muttering a good-bye to the man Harry had just been hugging.

"So... Whatever did Professor Lupin gave you?" Ron inquired, his head motioning to the still wrapped present and trying to break the silence in their way to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Harry smiled slightly at the reminder of the package. "I still don't know but I was gonna open it once we got there "

It ended up being two things: the diary of James Potter during his school years and a copy of the more in-depth book there was about Parseltongue that wasn't hidden away by Salazar Slytherin.

Harry couldn't have looked more excited and fascinated by the second book but when his eyes landed on the first, he was sure he was restraining himself from crying. Finally he would be able to know about his father without the tails being influenced by their previous opinions of the man.

Harry got worried for a moment about the cost of the book about Parseltongue given Lupin's clear financial situation but shrugged off his concerns at reading the note that had fallen off the package. Lupin had assured him that it was quite cheap because nobody was able to read it, and while Ron thought that was an exaggeration, he only had to open the book to understand it was no more than the truth.

"What's this mate? Looks like gibberish to me," Ron commented, showing Harry the book. "Is actually possible for someone to have handwriting this bad? I can't recognise a single letter!"

Harry smirked. "It's actually written Parseltongue. Wicked, right?"

Ron hummed. "So that's how you write a hiss."

Harry rolled his eyes at the comment.

* * * * * * *

"Where are we going, Harry?" Hermione questioned him for what felt like the millionth time. "There is nothing in this part of the seventh floor."

"Yeah, mate," Ron agreed, looking around the hall and the fabrics hanging in them as a decoration, "just a bunch of tapestries and a dead end."

Harry smirked, inspecting the Marauders Map to ensure that nobody was near so he could reveal the hidden room. They were fortunately alone so he proceeded to fold the parchment and placed it in a pocket of his robes. "You'll see," he said in a smug tone. He started to walk from side to side in front of a wall, muttering something to himself. But before Ron had time to call him barmy, a wooden door appeared.

"That wasn't there before," Ron helpfully pointed out.

Hermione laughed breathily, slack-jawed. "I love magic!"

Harry opened the door, making a hand gesture encouraging them to follow him as he entered. "C'mon, you want to get caught?"

The inside was really cosy, Ron noticed as soon as he stepped in. It was a small room with dim lights and a lot of cushions, pillows and blankets all over the floor in three different colours: yellow, green and dark slate blue — and he knew this shade of purple because it was also his favourite colour. There were also three small and thin books with an odd quill each.

"That green looks just like your eyes, Harry," Hermione commented.

"It is my favourite colour," Harry admitted looking down at them.

"I didn't know your favourite colour was yellow, Hermione," Ron said with pursed lips that shaped up to be a smile. "Kinda looks like a bird."

Hermione huffed. "It's Tuscany yellow, obviously. You know, like that region of Italy?"

"'Course," Ron replied with his eyes rolling. "Whatever, just — What are we doing here Harry?"

He plumped down in a cushion, making himself comfortable. "Remember we talked about Occlumency?"

"Of course, Harry," Hermione replied, she and Ron sitting down as well, "we talked about it just three days ago."

"And you said you were pants at it because of the whole _'separate your emotions from you'_ thing," Ron added, eyebrows furrowed in a pondering manner.

"True," Harry admitted, pointing at them with his index finger to add impact to his statement, "but I have already finished the book and it provided me of an alternative way to go if the traditional method failed and you said you also wanted to do it so I figured **—** "

"Thank you for including us again in your life, mate," teased Ron with a playful smirk.

"How do we begin, Harry?"

Harry grinned. "Traditional Occlumency consists of putting up like a protective barrier around you mind, but we are not going to do that because I am rubbish at separating myself from my emotions and because this unconventional method is way more interesting," he explained. "This method doesn't exist to keep people out but to confuse the hell out of 'em. This way you have to create a way for you to hide your emotions and memories while distracting them to choose the wrong path, like a labyrinth that you have to create in your mind."

Ron could feel his eyes widened at the idea of something like that. "And what were going to do with these strange quills and the parchment?" he inquired, leaning forward. "There is no ink."

"First, they are pens, Ron," Harry replied before Hermione could correct him, "muggles use them to write and they have their own ink inside so you don't have to carry it separately. And, we are going to do brainstorming. The book explained it as writing on a piece of parchment all of our ideas — it doesn't matter if they are vague or detailed — and then we'll do something called 'idea printing' which I will explain as soon as we finish this."

"So we just write?" asked Hermione. "Like as a paragraph or with bullet points?"

"Like whatever you want 'Mione," answered Harry grabbing the piece of the parchment near him and a pen to start writing.

Unlike him, Ron and Hermione hadn't had time to think about what they wanted to do. Hermione started drafting what came to her mind and scratching it afterwards not being satisfied by what she had written, constantly pushing back the locks of her messy hair out of her face. Ron spent a good time just glaring at the parchment in his lap as if it had insulted his family with the end of the pen resting on the corner of his mouth until an idea came to him and his face brightened to realise he had only written a line that read _'no big ceilings'_. He scrunched his face and tried to look quickly at what Hermione had written next to him. It certainly didn't let him feel any better seeing that — despite the several scratches and ink stains — she had written more than two paragraphs, managing to see the words _'infinite library', 'worse if wrong book'_ and _'starry night'_. 

Ron tried to reassure himself. Of course Hermione had more written down, she was like the most intelligent person he's ever met. And Harry had time to think this through so it made sense that he too was writing.

What would be a good enough place to confuse people? Hermione was making a library but he couldn't do that. Maybe a place that has mostly the same colour? Like those merchants in Egypt with their tents of similar patterns and the colours basically the same in Ron's eye. Oh! he could make it like that! With lots of people and the camels. And all that voice that made it impossible to even hear your thoughts.

He looked down at what he had written then.

>   * no big celings
>   * egypt
>   * confusing tents and merchants
>   * camels
>   * other animals too
>   * (sheep??)
>   * shiny things
>   * tourits
>   * big chatter that increases and animal sounds too
> 


It wasn't that much but at least he could see a picture. Harry had said it didn't matter how much you wrote so he could work with that, as he had said before, not everyone was a genius like Hermione.

But, where was he going to put his memories? Or his feelings and such? Strategically, he knew it was not best to keep them together.

The pyramids would be the obvious choice so that's why he was putting there something to scare and trap the person who tried to enter. The sky would have sun and clouds that would shift their positions as the day passes by. In the clouds he would put his thoughts of the moment, and whoever even glances at the sun would become blinded and increase their confusion. By looking at the moon one would feel nauseous and the stars... he didn't know yet but perhaps something to do with confusing them. Like, not being able to differentiate from north to south or that if you try to follow you'll end up in the same place you were before — or one even worse.

His actual memories could be buried in tunnels! Only accessible by solving a riddle... that happened to be in the chatter and in the objects the merchants were selling!

So he had:

>   * ~~no big celings~~ big sky
>   * egypt
>   * confusing tents and merchants
>   * camels
>   * other animals too
>   * (sheep??)
>   * shiny things
>   * tourits
>   * big chatter that increases and animal sounds too
>   * day-night cycle
>   * pyramids with fears
>   * sun - blind/confuse
>   * clouds - thoughts present
>   * moon - nausea
>   * stars - confuse somehow
>   * tunnels with memories - through a riddle
> 


He knew what he meant so it was okay.

And one more thing before he forgot:

>   * change riddle or place if someone gets too close
> 


He really hoped he was doing this okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I say I love Ron despite his many, many flaws? At least he is working around them, okay? He is honestly my favourite character and a great friend of Harry's so he is going to have protagonism in this story and not simply shunned away when Harry's life starts changing.
> 
> Do you have a favourite character? Who is it? If you could tell me in the comment section, it would be marvellous so I can get to know a little about my readers. And talking about the comment section, sorry for not replying down there but... I am very awkward and don't know what to say. I still read the comments though!
> 
> Happy Holidays!


End file.
